


The Importance of Uncle Rudy

by Lavender_and_Vanilla



Series: Lavender_and_Vanilla Explains It All or Fanfiction Fixes Everything [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Boarding School, Character Death, Childhood Memories, Christmas, Christmas Dinner, Costumes, Difficult Decisions, Eurus is a monster, Family Secrets, Gen, Growing Up Too Fast, Holmes Siblings, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, IRA - Freeform, Kid Eurus, Kid Sherlock, Mummy is kind, Mycroft Feels, Mycroft backstory, Mycroft does leg work, Mycroft has a girlfriend?, Mycroft has to grow up too soon, Mycroft upsets Mummy, Mycroft's Umbrella, School Play, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock bakes (take that any way you like), Sick Mycroft, Spy Mycroft, Teen Mycroft, Teen Sherlock, The Importance of Being Earnest - Freeform, Triggers, lying to parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2018-11-09 05:19:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 25,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11097720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_and_Vanilla/pseuds/Lavender_and_Vanilla
Summary: Mycroft Holmes's Uncle Rudy helped make him the man he is today.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When Mycroft mentioned playing Lady Bracknell in his school's production of The Importance of Being Earnest, I knew cross-dressing Uncle Rudy had to be involved. It turns out Uncle Rudy was involved in a lot more than was previously understood.

_Fall 1985..._

Mycroft Holmes stood quietly in the hall, a respectful distance from his schoolmate. The other boy was on the communal telephone and clearly speaking with his girlfriend, furtively whispering sweet nothings to the young lady. When the housemother signaled his time was done the overly sentimental goodbye had Mycroft nearly gagging, but he kept his peace.

 

Hanging up the other boy smirked at Mycroft. “Watch and learn, Holmes.” Mycroft rolled his eyes. He had no desire to learn _that_. He picked up the phone and dialed using the phone card he’d been given for specifically these types of calls.

 

“Hello, Lane. Is my uncle available? Yes, I will wait.” Mycroft leaned against the wall and nervously twisted the phone cord in his fingers. He realized he was showing his unease and shoved his free hand in his pocket.

 

“Mycroft, my boy, how are you today?” His uncle’s voice boomed over the line.

 

Mycroft immediately stood away from the wall. “Very well, thank you. Uncle Rudy, I have something I need to tell you. I…”

 

“Hold on boy. You have not finished your greeting. Manners matter.”

 

“Yes, Uncle. Apologies.” Mycroft took a breath and reigned in his excitement. “How are you faring?”

 

“Well enough. I’ve had a little ache in my back with the cold weather setting in, but not unmanageable.”

 

“And Aunt Margaret? Is she well?” Mycroft started to tap his foot.

 

“Yes, she’s in fine form. She and your mother are going shopping this weekend or antiquing or some such nonsense. Stop tapping your foot Mycroft.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Mycroft straightened and planted both feet firmly on the ground.

 

“Now it seems a tad early for your usual phone call. You must have some specific news to report. Nothing untoward, I hope.”

 

“No Uncle. I mean, yes I have news but I do not think it to be unfavorable. I believe you will not think it so.” Mycroft struggled not to shout with excitement.

 

“Well, Mycroft, I can tell you are chomping at the bit to tell me. Go on, then.”

 

“Thank you.” Now having permission the boy was momentarily at a loss for words. He remembered his uncle’s previous advice and started at the beginning. “The school will be producing The Importance of Being Earnest for the winter play.”

 

“Excellent. Oscar Wilde is wickedly funny. I presume you have a role of some sort. Perhaps the footman or are you…”

 

“Lady Bracknell.” Mycroft interrupted excitedly. There was silence. “Ap…Apologies,” he stuttered. “Forgive me for interrupting.” He was relieved to hear his uncle start to chuckle.

 

“It’s alright Mycroft. I was merely surprised, but thank you for apologizing. You? Lady Bracknell? Were there auditions and you auditioned?” Mycroft heard the incredulity in his uncle’s voice.

 

“Yes.” Of a sort and in a way, thought Mycroft.

 

_“I’d like to see you to do better,” spat out Mycroft’s classmate when he heard a snicker coming from the corner in which Mycroft was sitting. It wasn’t Mycroft, but as usual he was fingered. Mycroft had long stopped protesting and simply accepted the blame._

_“Mr. Holmes, would you care to try your hand at this part?” The English instructor, now director, asked the gawky teenager._

_Well, no, thought Mycroft, but he knew protesting was useless. He might as well get it over with. Everyone in his class was expected to participate in some way. However, he was as surprised as the rest of his schoolmates when his interpretation solicited laughter, not because he did poorly but because he was actually funny. Perhaps all those games of dress up with Sherlock had some value._

_Even more surprising was how much he enjoyed it. The praise from the rest of the cast was rather pleasant. They patted him on the back and invited him to join them at lunch. Mycroft had sat quietly among them listening to their banter, occasionally offering an observation or a suggestion. The rehearsal schedule was reviewed, plans made to build the set and Mycroft found himself in the thick of it rather than watching from the side. It was not an altogether disagreeable experience._

“That is a fine role. I am pleased, Mycroft, very pleased.” His nephew flushed with pleasure.

 

“Will you come? To the play?”

 

“Of course, my boy.” Mycroft smiled to himself. His parents and Sherlock would come, but it was always best when Uncle Rudy was present. Then at least someone was paying attention to him rather than to Sherlock and his antics. “Have you thought about your costume?”

 

The question caught Mycroft off guard. “Ah… No.”

 

“The costume is very important.” Uncle Rudy’s tone was quite serious.

 

Mycroft’s brain scrambled for an answer. “I thought I would find something in the drama club’s wardrobe closet.”

 

“No, no. That won’t do, not at all. You will come to the manor house this weekend and we will see to your costume.”

 

“I have to review for a Russian exam and there are rehearsals on Saturday.”

 

“I will send a car to pick you up after your rehearsals.” His uncle was firm.

 

“Yes, Uncle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know anything about boarding schools in the UK and certainly not all male boarding schools in the 1980s, but I don't believe I included anything wildly bizarre. I am assuming it is an all male school and boys played all the roles in the play.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft learns more than he bargains for about Uncle Rudy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Herk and I had an exchange in the comments of one of our posts (I forget which one.) that Uncle Rudy would be very particular that Mycroft's costume would be perfect. 
> 
> A belated thank you to Anthea's_Blackberry for reading over chapter one for me. <3

            As his uncle’s car motored up the drive to the manor house Mycroft put away his books and straightened his tie and rolled down his cuffs. The car rolled to a stop outside a large, sedate mansion. The young man exited the car putting his jacket on as he did. He left his books in the back seat. There was no need to carry them inside, as he would be returning in the same vehicle later on that day. His uncle came out the front door to greet him.

 

            Uncle Rudy was a rotund man several inches shorter than his nephew. The two of them looked remarkably alike. So much so they were often mistaken for father and son when they were in public. Both shared the fair complexion with freckles and ginger hair. They had the same long prominent nose. However, Mycroft’s build was more like his father’s than his maternal uncle. His eyes also were from his father, piercing blue that could turn to gray when troubled, a bit like the sea he had grown up by.

 

            “Mycroft.” His uncle carefully examined the young man. “You look as if you have lost an inch in your waist and gained it in your legs.” Mycroft flushed aware his trousers were only just an acceptable length. “You look well boy.”

 

            “Thank you, Uncle. As do you.”

 

            Rudy snorted. “Look again, Mycroft.”

 

            Mycroft paused briefly. “No, you do not look well,” he agreed quietly.

 

            “Damn boy. You needn’t agree so quickly,” the man huffed good-naturedly.

 

            “Apologies.”

 

            “No, no. I asked for it.” Uncle Rudy looked meaningfully at his nephew. “We agreed. No secrets, no lies between us.”

 

            “No sir.”

 

            “Come in, Mycroft.” The man turned and led his nephew inside.

 

            On their way to his uncle’s study Mycroft listened to his portly uncle wheeze and puff. Once they reached their destination Uncle Rudy heaved himself into his favorite chair panting. His face was floridly red and sweat glistened on his brow. Taking a handkerchief from his breast pocket he mopped his brow, he gestured to the tea service. “You can be mother.”

 

            “Of course.” Mycroft seated himself in a position to serve, keeping his alarm to himself. He poured the tea and reached for the sugar.

 

            “None for me.” His nephew was surprised, but nodded in understanding. He gestured towards the milk. “I will not let them take everything away from me, damn doctors,” responded Uncle Rudy to the implied question. Having prepared the tea to his uncle’s satisfaction, Mycroft passed the cup over. Uncle Rudy sipped it gratefully. “So bloody thirsty,” he murmured.

 

            Mycroft prepared his own tea. “Perhaps water would be a better choice.”

 

            “Now you sound like them.”

 

            “Ap…”

 

            “No, don’t apologize. You are correct. Never apologize when you are right, Mycroft. Never.”

 

            “Of course.” He watched somewhat dismayed as his uncle greedily drank down his tea. The boy made another cup and this was consumed more slowly.

 

            Uncle Rudy, now feeling recovered, addressed his nephew. “Now to the matter at hand. Lady Bracknell, eh?”

 

            “Yes sir.”

 

            He eyed his nephew. “Stand up, boy.” Mycroft dutifully stood. He blushed as his uncle scrutinized him. “What size shoe do you wear?”

 

            Mycroft glanced at his feet. “I believe 12 ½.” His uncle hummed and tapped a finger against his lips.

 

            “How tall are you now? Six feet?”

 

            “Just about.”

 

            “Probably be over six feet in the end.” The older man mused. “That’s good. Height is important in the business we are in. I never had much of it, but I digress." He took another sip of tea. “Take off your jacket and turn around.” Mycroft complied, slowly. “Oh relax, Mycroft.” His uncle chuckled. “I need to see what we have to work with.” He studied Mycroft’s build for a moment then heaved himself out of his chair. “Right. I believe I have something that will work.”

 

            Mycroft watched as his uncle walked to a closet door and took a key from his pocket to unlock it. He glanced back at his nephew. “No secrets, no lies.”

 

            “No sir,” Mycroft responded, not at all sure what was about to be revealed. The older man nodded and then unlocked the door.

 

            It wasn’t so much as a closet but rather a small room. Mycroft moved to stand near his uncle and could see on one side of the room hung a number of dresses. The other side had shelves and drawers. The back wall had a full-length dressing room mirror. Uncle Rudy walked in and began sorting through the dresses. Most were relatively modern looking, but there was one that looked like a flapper dress. Mycroft also thought he saw a poodle skirt with a poodle applique.

 

            “Ah, here we are.” His uncle pulled out a dark maroon silk dress with a long full skirt and a high neck with black lace. “You are taller than I, but this was always a bit long.” He held it up to Mycroft. The boy took the dress and pressed it against his body.

 

            “It seems a bit big.” Mycroft said calmly, but inside his brain whirled making connections and deductions.

 

            “We can have it tailored.” His uncle gestured to the wall of shelves and drawers. “All the appropriate undergarments are here--corsets, crinolines, garters, stockings.” He glanced at his nephew’s feet. “My boots will not fit you. We will need to have a pair made.”

 

            “Made?”

 

            “Yes. I think a low heel will be best. You are not used to walking in heels and we wouldn’t want you to tower over the rest of the cast.”

 

            “Of course.” Mycroft agreed a little stunned by what he was learning about his uncle.

 

            “And gloves.” His uncle looked positively gleeful.

 

            “What?”

 

            “You will need gloves.” Uncle Rudy opened a drawer and searched a moment. “Here,” he took the dress from Mycroft and handed him a pair of black gloves. “Try these.” Mycroft accepted the gloves and attempted to wedge his hands into them. His fingers were too long and he would not have been able to button the buttons at the wrist. “No matter. We can purchase a pair that fits.” Mycroft pulled off the glove and put it back in the drawer. His uncle hung the dress back up and then exclaimed, “Oh, I nearly forgot!”

 

            “Forgot, what?” Mycroft was feeling overwhelmed.

 

            “The hat.” Uncle Rudy moved back to the shelves and removed a large hatbox. “Hold this.” He handed the box to Mycroft and opened it setting the lid aside. Inside was a wide brimmed hat in the exact same maroon silk with large black ostrich feathers. Mycroft gulped. His uncle mistook the boy’s reaction. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” He gently lifted the hat from the box and turned it in his hands. Mycroft jerked his head back as a feather came too close to his face. “Bend down a bit.”

 

            Mycroft bent his knees and the hat was set on his head. He glanced in the mirror and what he saw was completely ridiculous. Uncle Rudy disagreed. “That is perfect.”

 

            “Isn’t it a bit large?” Mycroft turned his head and the hat shifted. He raised a hand to steady it.

 

            “No, once you have the wig on it will fit perfectly.” He stared wistfully at Mycroft.

 

            “Wig?”

 

            “Of course, Mycroft. You will need a wig.”

 

            Mycroft rubbed his nose. “May I take this off?” He sniffed lightly.

 

            “Yes, certainly.” His uncle looked at Mycroft, considering. “Are you allergic to feathers?”

 

            Mycroft lifted the hat off his head and put it in the box. “Just a bit,” he managed to get out before turning away to sneeze.

 

            “Bless you.” His uncle opened another drawer and took out a ladies handkerchief trimmed in lace. “That’s the Holmes in you,” he sighed as he offered the cloth.

 

            “Thank you,” murmured Mycroft, as Uncle Rudy put the hat away.

 

            “You will have to wear it. There is no getting around it.” The older man led them back to the main room and closed the door to the dressing room. “It completes the look. No lady of the day would have gone anywhere without a hat.”

 

            “I understand,” Mycroft replied sniffing. “I can take an allergy pill before each performance.”

 

            “Good thinking my boy. We can also give you a handkerchief to carry as well.” Uncle Rudy resumed his seat and Mycroft sat as well, having donned his jacket again. His uncle clapped his hands to together and grinned at the boy. “Now, let us formulate a plan for getting your costume ready.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naturally there is a make up lesson.

 

            “There, apply the rouge… yes… just so. Brilliant, Mycroft. You’ve a talent for this.” Uncle Rudy beamed at his nephew’s reflection in the mirror. Mycroft smiled hesitantly at his uncle. He was worried about the lipstick getting on his teeth. The older man shifted uncomfortably and patted Mycroft on the shoulder, before limping back to a chair behind Mycroft’s seat at his wife’s vanity.

 

            “Aunt Margaret won’t mind our using her cosmetics?” Mycroft asked casually shifting around to watch his uncle. He thought he knew the answer.

 

            Uncle Rudy grunted as he sat. “Hmm? Mind? No, she doesn’t use these. You may take them with you and keep practicing.” Mycroft nodded, his suspicions confirmed. He turned back to the mirror and twisted his neck side to side to better study his handiwork.

 

            “Does my nose look too big?” he asked.

 

            “There are plenty of women with large noses, Mycroft. Your grandmother being one. If you apply some shading along either side you can make it appear slimmer… Yes, exactly.” The older man praised his nephew’s experimentation. He watched the boy make a minor adjustment with the eyeliner and stare critically at himself. “How are rehearsals going? You only have two weeks until the performance.”

 

            “Oh fine.” Mycroft began experimenting making beauty marks with the moles on his cheek. “I had the play memorized by the end of first week. The rest of the cast has been slower learning their lines and I’ve been able to assist each one as needed. It has freed up the stage manager to spend more time on the props and set. Mr. Hamilton says thank you for the wigs you sent over. I imagine you will be getting a note shortly.”

 

            “Splendid, splendid.” Mycroft’s uncle replied absently.

 

            Mycroft watched his uncle in the mirror and observed the man rub at the left side of his chest. He looked down at the cosmetics and then continued, “My studies are not suffering you will be happy to know. I will have completed the full year by the end of the term.” His uncle made a soft noise indicating he was listening. The boy began rearranging the pots of make up and watched his uncle reach into his breast pocket. The portly man removed a small bottle, opened it and shook a tablet out into his other hand. He slipped the tab under is tongue, recapped the bottle and tucked it away. Mycroft felt a pang of fear. He turned to face his uncle. “You will be at the play, won’t you?” he asked anxiously.

 

           Uncle Rudy was surprised at the intensity of Mycroft’s question. “Of course, Mycroft. I plan to be there, front row.” His nephew relaxed somewhat and Rudy smiled fondly at the young man. “I am very fond of you and very proud of you, nephew-mine.” Mycroft looked down and flushed.

 

           “I am fond of you too.” Mycroft said quietly.

 

           His uncle gave an amused huff. “Well now that we have expressed our sentiment for each other for the year, let’s have you remove that war paint and we will have tea before you go back.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft has, perhaps, dare we say it, friends?

     “Oi, Holmes. Are my tits crooked?” Mycroft looked up at Spencer in the mirror and grimaced. He put down his make up brush and got up.

 

     “Jesus, Spencer. There’s like a foot difference.” Foster laughed as he rolled on his stockings.

 

     “An inch and half, I think,” murmured Mycroft. “But definitely noticeable.” He deftly adjusted the falsies and finished fastening his friend’s frock.

 

     “Thanks, mate.” Spencer smiled at Mycroft and turned to look at himself in the mirror. “Why are my tits smaller than yours?”

 

     “Your uncle didn’t buy the costumes.” Fredricks chimed in from the other end of the make up counter. Mycroft blushed under his pancake foundation, but no other comments were forth coming. He went back to finish his make up and the other boys continued their good-natured chatter as they continued dressing for the performance. Mycroft smiled listening to their conversation and occasionally contributing his thoughts.

 

     Once his make up was done he stood to check his appearance. The frock fit him well and, as Spencer had commented, he had been given a sizable bust. It made him look as if he had a waist, along with the corset that made him feel slightly short of breath. It had taken several weeks to find boots and gloves that suited Uncle Rudy’s specifications, but Mycroft was glad they had taken the time. His uncle was right, the details were what made the costume, and, like his uncle, Mycroft was a person who appreciated details. The wig he wore was hot and itchy, but the dark brown color suited him he thought, if the elaborate curls did not. It had been sprayed with gray to give him a more aged appearance and with make up he had added shadows under his eyes and in the creases of his face as well. He nodded at himself in the mirror satisfied.

 

     There was a knock on the dressing room door just before it opened. The stage manager stuck his head inside to give them the five-minute warning.

 

     “Alec, I’m not decent!” Foster squawked playfully.

 

     “You’ve never been decent,” Alec replied rolling his eyes. “Five minutes to curtain, girls. You ready Gwennie?”

 

     “Yeah, yeah just let me get my hat on.” Spencer picked up his hat and started to pin it in place.

 

     “You got your hat, Lady B.?” Alec asked.

 

     “Yes, here.” Mycroft picked up his hatbox and handed it to Alec.

     “See you stage left,” Alec gave Mycroft a bright smile and a wink. Mycroft thought he felt Alec’s fingers brush over the back of his hand as the box was removed from his grasp. The stage manager ducked out the door.

 

     “See you,” Mycroft answered numbly, as he stared after Alec. Fredricks looked at Foster and smirked.

 

     “Is it crooked?” Spencer was tilting his head back and forth as he stared in the mirror. Mycroft looked over and sighed.

 

     “Of course it is.” Mycroft adjusted Spencer’s hat and pinned it to the wig.

 

     “Why is my hat so plain? I want feathers.”

 

     Mycroft rolled his eyes, “You are portraying a single, young lady. I am portraying a matriarch.”

 

     “No, it’s because your uncle bought the hats too.” Fredricks rejoined good-humoredly.

 

     “Well, yes, that too.” Mycroft agreed equably. The other boys roared with laughter.

 

     “I think I’d look better with feathers and not these silly fake flowers.”

 

     “I would gladly trade, but the flowers would clash with my gown. Besides black ostrich feathers would not complement your dress.”

 

     “Speaking of feathers. Did you take your allergy pill?” Foster asked Mycroft.

 

     “Yes, thirty minutes ago. I should be fine.”

 

     “You know what they say, a bad dress rehearsal makes for a good opening night.” Fredricks observed, as Spencer picked up his and Mycroft’s parasols, handing the one over.

 

     “I don’t see how it could have been much worse. Mark dropped the tea, and then I slipped in the puddle,” Spencer grumbled.

 

     “You didn’t sneeze throughout the first act.” Mycroft muttered and subsequently checked to see if he had a handkerchief tucked in his sleeve.

 

     “Oh just make sure Alec doesn’t put the hat on you backwards, Holmes. You’ll be fine.” Fredricks said calmly.

 

     “I’m not sure what you are complaining about,” Foster commented as he fastened his boots before sitting down to finish his make up. “You didn’t break a chair when you sat in it. “

 

     A sharp rap sounded on the door and Alec’s muffled voice called out, “One minute!”

 

     “Ready, Holmes?” Spencer turned to Mycroft.

 

     Mycroft took as deep a breath as able. “Yes, I think I am.”

 

     “Break a leg,” Fredricks offered from the make up counter. “See you in Act II.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've not abandoned this story, fear not. I just had trouble finding time to write. There is certainly more to come and I've already started on chapter 5. Please feel free to leave comments.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reviews are in. It was better than "Cats".

     After the final curtain call the boys raced back to the dressing rooms to change and clean off their make up. A reception was being hosted in the lobby for the family and friends attending their last performance and they didn’t want to miss out on the snacks.

 

     Mycroft found his parents and Sherlock easily enough. They already had procured cups of punch and were standing off to the side. Uncle Rudy, who as promised was at every show, mingled with the other parents. Ever the politician he made sure to praise every boy’s performance. Mycroft watched him with a mixture of pride and worry.

 

     His uncle moved ponderously from family to family. He smiled and laughed, but Mycroft could see tightness around his mouth and eyes indicating he was not feeling well. Mycroft sighed. He had tried to tell his uncle not to attend this evening, but his uncle would not be deterred.

 

     “Mikey!” His mother pulled him into a big hug once he came near. “You were wonderful. Wasn’t he wonderful, dear?” She aimed her question at her husband, as Mycroft disengaged from the embrace.

 

     Mycroft found his hand being shaken vigorously by his father. “Yes, indeed. Well done, son.”

 

     “Thank you.” Mycroft blushed. His parent’s effusiveness was overwhelming. Their reaction to his good grades and academic accomplishments had always been so much more subdued. He wondered if their cups of punch had been spiked. “I am glad you enjoyed it.”

 

     “Boring!” Sherlock moaned.

 

     “I’m sorry the play was not to your taste.” Mycroft responded civilly.

 

     “The play was okay. This party is boring. Why is there no soda? I wanted a soda.” Sherlock whined and Mycroft ground his teeth.

 

     “You don’t need a soda this late at night. You won’t sleep if you drink a soda at this hour.” Mrs. Holmes admonished her younger son.

 

     “Sleep is for the weak,” scoffed Sherlock who was eyeing the table with the biscuits and cake.

 

     His father noticed Sherlock’s attention had shifted. “How about you bring us a few biscuits?” He suggested.

 

     Sherlock sighed. “Fine, but Mycroft better not eat them all.” He slouched off into the throng. Mycroft watched him, suspicious that he went so willingly.

 

     “You are looking quite fit, Mikey,” Mrs. Holmes commented. She patted his chest and looked up at him considering. “Oh my goodness. You are as tall as your father. You two, stand back to back,” she ordered.

 

     “Mummy…”

 

     “Go on.”

 

     Mycroft’s father smiled and turned, leaving the young man no choice but to comply. Mycroft rolled his eyes as he did.

 

      “Sister-mine, what are you up to?” Uncle Rudy mercifully interrupted the measuring session.

 

      “Look Rudy, Mycroft is as tall as his father.”

 

      “Why so he is! Now release the boy.” Mycroft gratefully stepped away to stand next to his much shorter uncle.

 

     “Myc!” He turned to see Alec leading his parents over to Mycroft’s family. “My parents wanted to meet you. Myc, these are my parents, Mr. and Mrs. Rhys-Smith.”

 

      “How do you do?” Mycroft extended his hand and politely shook hands with Alec’s father and nodded respectfully to Alec’s mother. He took a moment to introduce his family, with nods and hand shakes all around.

 

     “We enjoyed your performance tremendously and Alec has told us so much about you.” Mrs. Rhys-Smith beamed at the two boys. A brief expression of horror crossed Alec’s features before being replaced with a stiff smile.

 

      “I hadn’t laughed so much in ages. ‘To lose both looks like carelessness.’ Brilliant.” Alec’s father chuckled as he clapped Mycroft on the shoulder.

 

     “He was rather funny, wasn’t he?” Mrs. Holmes agreed. “I didn’t know he had it in him. He’s such a dour child.” Mycroft gave Alec a pained look. Alec winked causing Mycroft to smile a little.

 

     “You were outstanding tonight, Mycroft.” Uncle Rudy confirmed. “You were excellent in the other performances, but this was your best yet. In fact, everyone was at their best this evening.”

 

      “Thank you,” Mycroft murmured.

 

     “Oh there’s Mrs. Spencer.” Mrs. Rhys-Smith turned to Mycroft and his family. “Her son played Gwendolyn. We must congratulate them. It was so lovely to meet you.” Pleasantries were again exchanged and Alec’s parents headed off.

 

     “I’ll see you at the after-after party, right?” Alec asked as his parents moved to speak with the Spencers.

 

     “Yes, I’ll be there.” Mycroft affirmed.

 

     “Good.” Alec followed his parents into the crowd.

 

     Mrs. Holmes raised an eyebrow at her elder son. “It’s not really a party. We have to tear down the set and store the props and costumes for winter break.” Mycroft explained.

 

     “I see.” She nodded and then craned her neck. “Where did Sherlock get to?”

 

     Mycroft spotted his brother by the punch bowl with a troubling look on his face. “I see him.” Mycroft slipped off to come up behind his brother unawares.

 

     Sherlock had a plate of ginger nuts in one hand and the other stuffed in his pocket. “Don’t even think about it,” Mycroft growled as Sherlock began to remove something from his pocket.

 

     “I’m sorry is thinking not allowed at this school? No wonder you’ve become so dull.”

 

     “Give it over.”

 

     “Spoilsport.” Sherlock removed a handful of tablets, which looked suspiciously like antihistamines, and dropped them into Mycroft’s outstretched hand.

 

     “Mummy is looking for you.” Mycroft pocketed the tablets.

 

     “You always spoil the fun.”

 

     “How is it that I ‘spoil the fun’, when it is Mummy that is looking for you?”

 

     “You didn’t have to find me.”

 

     “Come along,” Mycroft huffed, prodding Sherlock back towards their parents.

 

     Mr. and Mrs. Holmes appeared to be in deep conversation with Uncle Rudy. As Mycroft and Sherlock approached the group, their mother spied the boys and gently touched her brother’s arm. A quick glance came their way and Mycroft could tell the topic at hand was being dropped. He had a sinking feeling he knew what that topic had been.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes life just isn't fair, even for Mycroft Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up I know very little about applying and acceptance to uni in the UK. What I learned I gleaned from the internet. This is not Brit picked so mistakes will happen and for that I apologize.

  _January 1986..._

        Mycroft spent much of the train ride to his uncle’s home staring out the window. The grey sky and brown fields slipped past his unseeing eyes. He was caught up in the memories of the past few months. They were more than entertaining enough. His sketchpad sat in his lap. Occasionally he would open it and gaze at a page, with a small smile tugging on the corners of his mouth.

 

          He had not expected to enjoy performing as much as he did. The applause and attention were frankly intoxicating. Learning to submerge into another character had given him a sense of freedom he couldn’t remember ever experiencing. His organizational skills and prodigious memory were much appreciated as well. Mr. Hamilton, his English teacher and director, suggested he help direct the spring performance. Mycroft was hoping they would try their hand at Shakespeare, perhaps Much Ado About Nothing.

 

           Mycroft found he was looking forward to school next term in a way he had never before. He had made a few friends amongst the other cast members. It was a new feeling for the young man to think that people would want to spend time with him and not for tutoring, or completing a pirate fantasy, or a fourth hand in cards. It was also a relatively new experience to want to spend time with boys his age. Participating in the play had forced Mycroft to get to know some of the young men better than he would have had they just had a class together. The long rehearsals and late nights building the sets fostered the playful side of his personality that had gone dormant some years ago.

 

          He thought about the boys he looked forward to seeing again. Spencer, who was intuitively empathic and a complete goldfish, but he knew it and cheerfully accepted assistance when needed. Fredricks, who couldn’t do sums or geometry to save his life, but was a voracious reader and had a sly wit.

 

           The train rocked and Mycroft looked down to catch his sketchbook from sliding to the floor. He smiled again at the pencil drawing on the open page. Alec, with kind eyes and an infectious grin, was a natural leader with an air of confidence that awed Mycroft. Yes, Mycroft was definitely looking forward to spending more time with Alec. He was fairly certain that Alec wanted to spend more time with him…

 

_“Hey Myc. I’ve got your hat.” Alec entered the dressing room carrying the hatbox. Mycroft made a face._

_“Thank you Alec. I am not going to miss wearing this.”_

_“You’ll miss the rest of this?” Alec gestured to the pots of makeup and costumes strewn about. Mycroft followed the movement with his eyes._

_“Yes,” he murmured. “I believe I will.” Turning his gaze to back to Alec as he spoke. The other boy grinned brightly at him, making his stomach twist. He quickly looked down at the trunk he was packing with the dress and its accessories. He shuffled a few items around and, taking the box, he nestled it into the trunk._

_“So… Are you going to try out for the spring play?” Alec jammed his now empty hands into his pockets._

_“Probably. Mr. Hamilton said he might let me try a hand at directing some of it.” Mycroft kept fussing with the trunk contents._

_“That’s cool.”_

_Mycroft straightened to look at Alec. “You think so?”_

_“Yeah. You’d be brilliant at directing. You really helped a lot with this production, and not just because your rich uncle bankrolled the costumes.”_

_“You think so?”_

_Alec stepped closer to Mycroft. “Yeah, I think so,” he replied softly._

_“Oh.” Mycroft looked down slightly into Alec’s eyes and was surprised at the sincerity he saw. His heart sped up as he realized Alec was standing a lot closer than was necessary. The desire to move even nearer to the other boy was overwhelming._

_“Hey! Are you two coming to help or getting a room?” A jovial face appeared in the doorway._

_Mycroft flushed and backed away from Alec._

_“Shut up Mark,” Alec growled as he moved toward the boy leaning against the doorframe. He glanced back at Mycroft with regret in his eyes. “He’s such a dick sometimes.” Alec tilted his head indicating the other boy, who squawked in protest, and then shoved Mark out of the doorway. “Yeah, we’re coming. Lead on MacDuff.”_

_Mycroft closed his trunk and followed his friends out._

 

             The train jolted to a stop interrupting Mycroft’s reverie. He quickly gathered his things and disembarked to find his uncle’s driver. The drive from the station to Uncle Rudy’s manor was uneventful and soon Mycroft was climbing out of the car to help the driver carry his bags into the house. Lane, the butler, met them at the door and assisted Mycroft to his usual room. Mycroft was puzzled he hadn’t seen his uncle yet, but kept quiet.

 

             “Your uncle is resting,” the butler answered Mycroft’s unspoken question as he helped the young man unpack. “He generally rests for an hour or so this time of day.” Mycroft nodded and bit his lip. “He asked that you meet him in the library at tea time.”

 

            “Yes, of course.” Mycroft silently made note that teatime was more than an hour away.

 

             Lane finished hanging Mycroft’s suits and turned to leave. “Lane?” The butler stopped and looked questioningly at his employer’s nephew. “How is my uncle, really?”

 

            The servant smiled reassuringly. “He is doing well. He doesn’t have the energy he used to, but who would at his age?” With that Mycroft was left alone to contemplate the lie. After all, Lane was approximately the same age as Uncle Rudy.

 

            Having cleaned up from travel Mycroft headed to the library. He smiled when he entered. The London newspapers had been arranged on the long library table. This game was a favorite of Mycroft and his uncle. Immediately the young man sat down to read the top news stories and began searching for what they had in common and what information was left out.

 

            Mycroft was deeply engrossed in the newspapers when Uncle Rudy entered the library. The older man chuckled to see his nephew immersed in the task. The boy’s ginger curls were mussed from running his hands through his hair. His sleeves were pushed up and there was a smudge of newsprint on his cheek.

 

           “Well, nephew-mine? What do you think?”

 

           Mycroft looked up startled and smiled. “Hello Uncle. How are you?” Mycroft respectfully stood as his uncle neared the table.

 

           “Well enough.” Mycroft silently concurred. His uncle looked about as well as he had in quite sometime. He did not appear fatigued and his color was better. A few pounds had been shed in the last month. “Yourself? I trust the train trip was pleasant.”

 

           “I am quite well, thank you. My journey was uneventful.” Mycroft hesitated a moment and then commented. “Lane said you are resting in the afternoon.”

 

          “Not so much resting as putting my feet up. It helps with the swelling. Now tell me, what do you think?” Rudy gestured to the scattered papers.

 

          Mycroft looked over the strewn pages and began to reorganize them. “I believe the Defense Secretary will have to resign at the New Year.”

 

          “Yes, I agree. I think the Trade and Industry Secretary will also have to go.”

 

          “That will tarnish Thatcher.”

 

          “Mm, quite. Anything else?”

 

          “Well…”

 

           “Yes?”

 

           “There is something going on between the United States, Israel and Iran. I’ve no explanation as to why McFarlane, who resigned earlier this month, would be in London.”

 

           “Where did you see that?” Rudy asked curious and leaned over the table.

 

           “Here” Mycroft picked up a paper to show the small article he had found in the society pages.

 

           The portly gentleman took the paper and studied the article in question. “Very interesting,” he murmured and then hummed thoughtfully. “I believe you have found something. Nice work.”

 

           Mycroft blushed at the compliment. He looked down at his hands. “Oh, I should wash up,” he commented noting the news ink on his fingers.

 

           “Don’t forget your face.” Uncle Rudy reached out and gently gave his nephew’s smudged cheek an affectionate pat.

 

             When Mycroft returned the tea trolley had arrived and Uncle Rudy was serving up the tea. Mycroft accepted a cup of tea and seated himself in a chair across from his uncle.

 

            “Well my boy how was the holiday with your parents and Sherlock?” Rudy sat back in his chair to sip his tea.

 

            Mycroft shrugged, no secrets… “Mummy pretends to be cheerful and in the holiday spirit. But she cries when she thinks no one is looking and is often irritable. Sherlock is obviously anxious and restless. He alternates from being clingy to being obnoxious. They are thinking of sending him to school next year. I doubt that will go well. Father just tries to keep everyone happy, when he’s about. Most of the time I was home he would go on long walks. Sometimes I would join him, but more often then not I would stay in my room reading or sketching.”

 

            Rudy listened to his nephew’s observations and sighed. “It has been almost four years.”

 

             “I know.” Mycroft stared into his teacup morosely. They sat quietly both wrestling with dark memories. Mycroft spoke again hesitantly. “He doesn’t seem to remember any of it, you know. Not even her. He continues to refer to Redbeard as a dog.” Mycroft lapsed back into silence.

 

            Uncle Rudy drank his tea and sat down the cup. “None of this. It is the holidays and I have a surprise for you.”

 

            Mycroft looked up hopefully. “What is it?”

 

            With a bit of a flourish, his uncle pulled an envelope from his breast pocket of his jacket. He handed it to Mycroft with a slight bow of his head. “This should pick up your spirits.”

 

            Mycroft took the envelope with a puzzled look. He pulled out the pages inside to read. Uncle Rudy grinned broadly as he watched his nephew.

 

            The young man gaped at the letter. “This… This is…”

 

            “Yes?”

 

            “This is an unconditional acceptance to Oxford.” Mycroft looked up at his uncle his face mirroring the happy smile of the other man. He gazed at Rudy with absolute joy. “How did you get this? The decisions weren’t to come out until next month.”

 

            “Oh, I have my connections, but I think you over looked an important detail.”

 

            Mycroft returned to studying the letter more closely. His smile faltered at the corners of his mouth. “I am to start in January? But I’ve not finished school.” Mycroft quickly scanned the missive again, his stomach sinking.

 

            “I prevailed upon some old friends to allow a half year admission. When you told me you had already finished all your work for the year, I thought no need to waste your time finishing at your public school.”

 

            Mycroft blinked quickly to quell the raw grief gathering in his chest and behind his eyes. “I… I don’t know what to say. I know they don’t usually admit scholars mid year.”

           

            “I confess I had to pull a few strings at my old college.” Mycroft was quiet. “What is it Mycroft?”

 

            “I…” Mycroft wasn’t sure how he was feeling much less how to express it. He looked at the letter; it was exactly what he had wanted… just not yet. He looked at his uncle whose delight was being dampened by Mycroft’s obvious trepidation. “I am overwhelmed. Thank you, Uncle Rudy.”

 

            “You are most welcome Mycroft. You are an exceptional young man and I have no doubt you will use every advantage given to you.” Rudy was relieved by Mycroft’s words.

 

            Mycroft nodded, swallowing down the hardening lump in his throat. “Do Mummy and Father know?”

 

            “Yes, I told them at the performance. The news had gotten me just that day. I asked to be the one to inform you when you came to visit. Naturally we discussed it before I approached my contacts. We didn’t tell you about it so as not to get your hopes up.” Uncle Rudy looked pleased that his surprise appeared to be well received.

 

            Mycroft sat the letter down and picked up his teacup. His hands shook and, as he took a sip, tea spilled down the front of his white shirt. “Bugger!” Mycroft set down the cup and grabbed a napkin. “Apologies,” he offered as he dabbed at the stain.

 

            His uncle dismissed the vulgarity. “You are more excited then you let on.”

 

            Mycroft stood. “I should change. Please excuse me.”

 

            “Of course.” Uncle Rudy waved him away

 

            Mycroft left the library and once in the hallway he raced back to his room fighting the tears that threatened to spill down his face. Upon reaching his room he shut the door behind him and leaned back against it. He took a ragged breath and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He struggled to calm himself. After while he got his breathing under control, but salt water still slipped down his cheeks. It just wasn't fair.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There has been another fire and Uncle Rudy and Mycroft are required to make some difficult decisions.

          The days flew by as Mycroft and his Uncle Rudy went about preparing him to attend Oxford the following month. Mycroft, not wanting to disappoint his uncle, hid his sadness at not returning to his public school. His beloved uncle always had time for the unobtrusive and circumspect Mycroft, when other adults flocked to observe Sherlock’s rambunctious hijinks and marvel at Eurus’s precocious manner. Rudy noted Mycroft’s quiet accomplishments and listened to his worries and fears. It made him feel guilty to keep his feelings hidden. He had tried a few times to voice his desire to finish the school year, but couldn’t bring himself to speak in the face of his uncle’s obvious excitement.

 

          Mycroft decided he would need to send a note along to Mr. Hamilton thanking him for his opportunity to participate in the play and explain that he would not be returning. Perhaps he could ask that Alec be advised as to Mycroft’s whereabouts? Dare he send a letter to Alec of his own? So Mycroft found himself lying in bed at night trying to compose such a missive in his head and fantasizing about meeting Alec again. There was no advantage to caring Mycroft determined as he contemplated his impossible position.

 

          Given his morose state of mind he was not asleep when Lane knocked at his door and bid him to come to his Uncle’s study.

 

         “Is he alright?” Mycroft asked anxiously as he hurriedly pulled on his robe and followed the butler.

 

          “Yes, but he has gotten some news.”

 

          They met his Aunt Margaret exiting the study. She looked sadly at Mycroft and hugged him. “Look after him for me,” she whispered in her nephew’s ear. Mycroft, confused, promised he would do his best. His aunt nodded and quickly headed down the hall towards the bedrooms.

 

          Biting his lip Mycroft entered his Uncle’s study. Rudy was on the phone, but he waved the young man in and pointed to a chair next to his desk. Mycroft sat, listening to his uncle’s side of the conversation.

 

          “Can you arrange a car to meet us when we arrive?” Rudy looked at the clock on his desk. “If the helicopter is on schedule we will be there in an hour. Have they identified the girl? …Yes, that sounds like her. …Her brother and I will be able to confirm her identity. Is she secure? …That doesn’t necessarily mean she is secure.” Mycroft’s eyes widened. “Do we know how many are dead? …I see.” Rudy sighed. “We discussed this possibility. Have Sherrinford on standby.” Without saying goodbye he hung up the phone.

 

          “Eurus?” whispered Mycroft.

 

          “Eurus,” his uncle answered and Mycroft felt the blood drain from his head.

 

          “What has she done?”

 

          “The official line is nothing. Officially, there has been an accident at Winterton Hospital. A fire.” Mycroft shuddered. “There were no survivors.”

 

          Mycroft stared at his uncle incredulous. “But you just asked if she was secure?”

 

          “That’s the official story, Mycroft. Understand?” Mycroft nodded, his mind whirled and caught up with his Uncle.

 

          “The truth is when the fire brigade arrived they found a young girl standing on the front lawn smiling and laughing. Thinking she was in shock they tried to remove her from the scene. She bit one man on the hand hard enough to draw blood and nearly gouged another’s eyes out. She screamed for them to leave her be so she could enjoy the bonfire she had built.”

 

          “That’s Eurus.”

 

          “Obviously to you and I, but she has refused to give her name to the local constabulary. All the families of the patients and staff have been contacted. It is imperative we arrive soon and determine what has happened.”

 

          “She killed them.” Mycroft stated baldly.

 

          “Yes, it would seem that way.” Rudy was hesitant to affirm Mycroft’s statement.

 

          “No, she killed them Uncle.” Mycroft’s expression was grim and certain.

 

          Rudy nodded and gazed sadly at his nephew. “I had hoped…”

 

          “She’s a monster. I told you that all those years ago.”

 

          “And I believed you.” Mycroft’s uncle hastened to reassure him. “I had hoped with the right help and time she would… improve.”

 

          “Well she didn’t.” Came Mycroft’s flat reply.

 

          “No.” Rudy looked at Mycroft considering. “I need your help, Mycroft.”

 

          Mycroft sat tall. “I will do anything I can.”

 

          “You are one of the few who can interact with her without becoming beguiled.” Mycroft nodded. “We have to go to Sedgefield and decide what to do with your sister. The helicopter will be here in twenty minutes. Pack an overnight bag.”

 

          “Yes, sir.” Mycroft stood and moved to leave the study.

 

          “Mycroft.” The young man turned back as he reached the door. “Dress as the gentleman you know you are.”

 

          “Yes, sir.”

 

          Despite the direness of the situation, Mycroft enjoyed his first helicopter ride. When they landed in the wee hour of the morning in what seemed to be a parking lot, he helped his uncle disembark and carried their bags to the waiting car. His uncle moved slowly across the lot and Mycroft had to shorten his stride so as not to outpace the older man. In the dim cabin light of the car he anxiously studied his uncle. The man appeared a bit winded, but otherwise seemed fine. His uncle caught Mycroft’s fretful gaze. “I’m fine nephew-mine.” Mycroft nodded and the older man gave the driver the order to head to the police station.

 

          The small station was humming with activity when they arrived. Constables moved to and fro and there was an air of urgency about the place. Uncle Rudy snagged a sergeant and soon he and Mycroft were being led to the back of the station where the officer in charge awaited them.

 

          “Sir, I am Chief Constable O’Kane.” The officer shook Rudy’s hand and then Mycroft’s. Rudy quickly introduced his nephew and then got straight to the point.

 

          “I believe the young girl you have in custody is my niece.”

 

          The constable nodded. “The girl is currently in one of our waiting rooms with a community officer.”

 

          “Oh dear lord. I gave instructions she was to be left alone and monitored from a distance.”

 

          “I’m sorry but that seemed extraordinarily harsh and unnecessary as she is only a…”

 

          Rudy interrupted. “Let’s hope she’s not inflicted too much damage.”

 

          The chief constable led them to the room and first Rudy, and then Mycroft looked through the small window in the door. They saw a middle-aged woman sitting next to a young girl with long hair in pigtails. They were playing cards. “Yes, that’s her,” Uncle Rudy confirmed to the chief constable and Mycroft agreed.

          The little girl did not look up as the men entered, but her companion did. The woman looked anxious and not a little relieved to be told she could leave. Rudy watched her exit and murmured to the constable, “She’ll need a therapist before the week is out.” He turned his attention to his niece. She had neatly stacked the cards and stared at the men with glittering dark eyes and a frighteningly blank expression.

 

          “Eurus.” Uncle Rudy said heavily.

 

          “Uncle and…. Mycroft.” There was a hint of pleasure in her childish voice. “Did you bring Sherlock?”

 

          “No, Eurus.” Mycroft replied.

 

          “Pity.” She went back to her cards, spreading them out, and began to build a card house.

 

          Rudy approached the table and sat across from his niece. “Eurus, did you set the hospital on fire?” he asked.

 

          “No.”

 

          Rudy sighed. “Eurus, did you set a fire in the hospital or on its grounds?” Eurus was silent and continued to work with her cards. “That was quite a large fire tonight. People died.”

 

          Eurus didn’t look up from her cards. “You are dying. You stink of death.”

 

          “We all die eventually.” Her uncle remarked calmly.

 

          “Yes, but you are dying now and I am still growing. I am growing bigger and stronger and smarter every day.” She stared into Rudy’s face with a coldness that made Mycroft shiver. The slight movement caught her attention and her gaze snapped to her brother. “You’re still growing. You won’t get any smarter though. You’ll never be smarter than me.”

 

          Uncle Rudy brought her attention back to himself. “Eurus, I’m not interested in any of this. The fire.”

 

          “The fire is boring. You are boring.”

 

          The older man rubbed his eyes and forehead, and then heaved his bulk from the chair. “Constable, a moment?” The two men started to leave the room and Mycroft moved to follow. “Mycroft, would you stay with your sister?”

 

          Mycroft agreed with trepidation, but he understood his uncle’s hope Eurus would be more forthcoming with him. He sat down in the seat across from her. He watched her building the house of cards. After a few moments he chose a card and placed it.

 

          She smiled. “You understand.”

 

          “Yes.” Mycroft observed she looked like a sweet child when she smiled.

 

          In silence they sat taking turns and slowly building the house. As Mycroft placed his last card, Eurus studied the structure. “Does Sherlock talk about me?” she asked.

 

          “No.”

 

          Eurus frowned. “Why not?”

 

          “He appears to have deleted you.”

 

          Eurus examined Mycroft closely. “That bothers you. Interesting.”

 

          “Doesn’t it bother you?”

 

          “No.”

 

          Mycroft thought otherwise, but held his peace. More silence passed between them before Eurus spoke again.

 

          “Do you know what I learned tonight?” She carefully shifted a card to another part of the house.

 

          “No, sister-mine.”

 

          “I learned what people scream when they are dying.”

 

          Mycroft kept his face impassive as a frisson of fear swept through him. He waited for her to go on.

 

          “They scream and scream. Sometimes they scream words, like ‘help’ or ‘anyone’. Some people scream for ‘Jesus’ or ‘God’.” Eurus was smiling slightly as she spoke and was looking past Mycroft apparently reliving her experience.

 

          The muscles in Mycroft’s cheek twitched as he suppressed his own desire to scream.

 

          “A few scream for ‘Mummy’.” Her eyes found Mycroft’s eyes and she looked expectantly at him. “I find that interesting.”

 

          With great control Mycroft asked the question she wanted him to. “Why is that interesting?”

 

          “Redbeard screamed ‘Mummy’. I thought it was just him.”

 

          Mycroft felt light headed as his heart raced faster and faster. He bit the inside of his cheek to ground himself.

 

          Eurus stared at her brother, waiting. Mycroft knew she wanted something from him. His mind scrambled to think what it was. Eurus huffed impatiently. “You’re so slow, Mycroft.”

 

          Rage flooded through him. Anger for feeling intimidated by his twit of a sister. “This is tedious, Eurus. I wouldn’t call for Mummy if I were dying,” Mycroft snapped.

 

          “Of course not. She wouldn’t come.”

 

          “She’d come for you or Sherlock,” Mycroft said bitterly. He focused on the house of cards they had built trying to regain control of his emotions. It struck him it was very emblematic of his relationship with his siblings, complicated and delicately balanced.

 

          “No. She would send you.” Mycroft’s gaze shot back to his sister. He realized she was right.

 

          “What I want to know is, who you would scream for?” Mycroft swallowed hard. She had that evil gleam in her eye. The sparkle that told him she had a plan and was ready to test her theory.

 

          The door behind him opened and Eurus’s expression went flat. Mycroft controlled his urge to heave a sigh of relief.

 

          “Mycroft? Would you step out for a moment?” His uncle’s voice soothed every nerve and Mycroft knew exactly whom he’d scream for in his last moments. He tried to keep that revelation from his face, but was uncertain of his success.

 

          “Certainly Uncle Rudy.” Mycroft rose and gave his sister an insincere smile. He exited the room feeling her stare burn between his shoulder blades.

 

          “We will return shortly Eurus. You’ll be alright on your own?” Mycroft heard his uncle ask. Then the door shut.

 

          Rudy turned to Mycroft who leaned against the wall next to the door. “Well?” Mycroft pulled himself together to give his report and Rudy listened. “Anything else? Any impressions?”

 

          “She asked me who I would scream for.” Mycroft said quietly.

 

          Uncle Rudy reached out and squeezed his nephew’s arm gently. “I’ll not let her touch you.”

 

          “I’m fine.” Mycroft straightened and stood away from the wall.

 

          “Yes, you are,” his uncle agreed. Then he continued. “We know several fires were set throughout the building and exits were blocked. I suspect she had several accomplices, but betrayed them and allowed them to burn.”

 

          “How many people died?”

 

          “Forty-five, including staff and other residents.” Mycroft closed his eyes briefly, sickened by the loss. “I want to take Eurus to Sherrinford.” Rudy spoke with a heavy heart.

 

          “What is Sherrinford?” Mycroft asked numbly as he tried to process the enormity of the tragedy.

 

          “It is a facility for people like her. There are therapists and doctors available.” Mycroft nodded. “However, it’s not a place that ‘residents’ ever leave, you must understand.”

 

          Mycroft focused his gaze on his uncle. His uncle stared back, with eyes filled with grief and anguish. “What about Mummy and Father?” Mycroft was puzzled they were not being involved.

 

          “They gave me permission to do as I see fit.” Rudy’s voice was quiet and sad.

 

          “I see.” Mycroft felt uneasy, but was brave enough to express his opinion. “I don’t think Mummy and Father would want her at a place like that.

 

          “Precisely. Still, I believe it is the best place for her. She is a danger to others.”

 

          “If only she had died,” Mycroft muttered.

 

          “What was that?” His uncle queried sharply.

 

          “Nothing.” Mycroft was horrified that inner thought had crept out.

 

          “No, you said, ‘If only she had died.’ Correct?”

 

          Worried he had crossed a line; Mycroft apologized. “Yes, I’m sorry. It was inappropriate.”

 

          “Yes, but it does propose a solution.”

 

          “How?” Mycroft was baffled how his remark could propose a solution.

 

          “Mycroft, if she had died how would your parents react?” Rudy asked excitedly.

 

           “They would grieve…” Mycroft paused, seeing the scene unfold in his mind.

 

          “They would be relieved, wouldn’t they?” Mycroft stared at his uncle quizzically. “No more worry over her. They could let Sherlock forget her in peace. They could forget her.”

 

          “But…”

 

          “It would be a kindness, Mycroft.” Rudy was enthusiastic about his plan. “We’ll tell them there is no body or remains because of the fire.”

 

          “But the constables…”

 

          “They know we’re taking her to be dealt with. Most of them don’t believe she was capable of orchestrating the arson.” The anguish in Rudy’s eyes was replaced with a glimmer as his idea began to take root.

 

           “I think…” Mycroft tried to find words to express his uneasiness with this plan that was being hatched.

 

          “I’ll make the arrangements.” Rudy hurried off down the hall.

 

           Mycroft watched his uncle go then peeked in the small window in the door. Eurus had knocked down the card house and was rebuilding it. He took a deep breath, opened the door and walked back into the room.

 

          “Have you decided what you are going to do with me?” Eurus asked without looking up.

 

          “Uncle Rudy is taking you to Sherrinford.”

 

          “Sherrinford.” She seemed to taste the word. She placed a few more cards and Mycroft started to leave the room. “Will Mummy and Father come to visit?”

 

          Mycroft stopped. “No,” he replied without turning back.

 

          “Good. They are boring. Winterton was boring. I hope Sherrinford isn't boring.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Children will often tell adults what they think the adults want to hear. Uncle Rudy takes Eurus to Sherrinford. He doesn't mean to leave the dirty work to Mycroft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Passages in italics are flash backs.

            It was in the wee hours of the morning that Uncle Rudy, Eurus and Mycroft left the police station in Sedgefield. Mycroft and Eurus sat in the back of the hired car and Uncle Rudy sat up front with the driver. Everyone was tired and Eurus curled up next to Mycroft with her head in his lap. Mycroft gently stroked her head and wondered at how innocent and peaceful she looked when asleep. His heart ached as he remembered the times he held her and rocked her as a baby and a toddler, before she began to show her remarkable intelligence and her extraordinary inhumanity.

 

            _“Oh Eurus, baby,” Mummy begged. “Please, please go to sleep.”_

_Mycroft stood in the doorway of the nursery watching his mother attempt to soothe his irritable sister. Every time she tried to sit in the rocker Eurus would start to wail. She was not much quieter if Mummy tried pacing with her, making fretful whimpers. The boy could tell they were both exhausted. ~~~~_

_“I’ll take her Mummy.” The boy spoke softly. His mother seemed startled to see him there in the doorway._

_“No, Mikey. We’re fine.” Mummy smiled wanly. Though, as if to contradict her mother, Eurus screamed in protest. “Shush, shush. You’ll wake your brother.” She glanced anxiously at the second crib, where Sherlock lay fast asleep._

_“Please Mummy. You’re tired. I know what to do.” Mycroft entered the room and held out his arms. Eurus leaned down, reaching toward him._

_“Well,” his mother hesitated. “She seems to want you anyway.” She transferred her burden, watching as her son carefully held his sister, and was satisfied he wouldn’t drop the baby. Mycroft swayed back and forth singing the ABC song. “I’m going to lie down,” she finally said as Eurus’s cries had turned to soft coos. Mummy huffed and left the nursery._

_Mycroft walked to the window seat and carefully sat so his baby sister could see out. “You mustn’t upset Mummy,” he explained to her. “And you don’t want to wake up Sherlock. He is very cranky without his nap.” He gazed solemnly down at his sister. Eurus stared back and reached up grabbing Mycroft’s nose. Gently Mycroft removed her hand and laid a tentative kiss on her fingers. Blinking a few times she let her eyes drift shut._

 

           

           Mycroft shook himself out of the reverie. This was no time for sentiment, he told himself sternly. He removed his hand off her hair and stared forward. In the rearview mirror he could see Uncle Rudy open a bottle and slip a tablet under his tongue. Mycroft bit his lip.

           After a few hours, just as the sky began to lighten, they arrived at a small airport seemingly in the middle of nowhere. The car pulled up to the tiny terminal building and Uncle Rudy roused himself. He went into the building, returning a few moments later to retrieve his niece and nephew. Eurus was impossible to arouse and Mycroft found himself carrying his sister inside. Uncle Rudy brought in his and Mycroft’s bags. Eurus had no luggage, all her belongings having been destroyed in the fire. Mycroft sat on a hard bench holding his sister. The lone attendant brought him a mug of milky tea and a few digestives to nibble.

          “The pilot is getting a helicopter ready to take Eurus and myself to Sherrinford. I want you to wait here until I return.” Uncle Rudy quietly informed Mycroft after they’d had a few sips of the tea.

          “I can’t come with you?” Mycroft asked anxiously. He was suddenly reluctant to let go Eurus.

          “No. It’s better if I do this alone. You’ll have plenty of opportunity to see her in the future, I’m sure.” His uncle looked grim and fatigued.

          Mycroft nodded and rested his cheek on Eurus’s head; he could smell the smoke in her hair. His uncle sat in a chair across from his niece and nephew. He yawned behind his hand and then ran it over along his jaw.

          “I should freshen up a bit.” He picked up his bag and went to the lavatory. Returning some minutes later, he was freshly shaved and had changed his shirt. However Mycroft could see the sweat starting to form on his uncle’s brow and a slight wheeze seemed to come with each breath.

          “Did you take your medication?” Mycroft asked, remembering his promise to Aunt Margaret and not liking how swollen his uncle’s ankles looked.

          “What I could. Some will have to wait until I get back.” Uncle Rudy gently shook Eurus’s shoulder. “Eurus, dear, you need to wake up.”

          The little girl sleepily lifted her head and her eyes blinked open. For a moment she looked like any other drowsy child. Then the moment was gone as her cold gaze first appraised Mycroft and then her surroundings.

          “I need the potty.”

          “Over there,” her uncle gestured toward the lavatory. She hopped off her brother’s lap and went to the restroom. Rudy watched her go before speaking again. “I’ll only be gone a few hours at the most. The car will wait here until I return. Then we can go to your parents and tell them.”

          “I don’t like lying to them,” his nephew confessed.

          “It’s a kindness, Mycroft. They will be happier in the long run. It’ll save them so much pain. Do you not agree?”

          “I guess.” Mycroft was exhausted physically and emotionally. He trusted his uncle and gave up trying to express his unease and discomfort with the situation.

          Eurus returned from the lavatory. “When are we going to Sherrinford?”

          “Very soon. The pilot is getting the helicopter ready.” Rudy gave his niece a tentative smile. She stared at him and didn’t smile back. He tried another tack. “Would you like some tea and biscuits?”

          “No, I’m ready to leave now. This place is boring. I want to ride in a helicopter.”

          “Ah…” Uncle Rudy was spared further attempts to distract Eurus as the attendant signaled their ride and the pilot were ready. “You are in luck. It’s time to go,” he responded with forced cheer.

          “How is that luck?”

          “Never mind. Say goodbye to Mycroft.”

          Eurus turned to her brother, who held his arms open to her. She stood out of reach. “Goodbye, Mycroft.”

          Mycroft dropped his arms. “Goodbye, Eurus.” He could not keep the sadness out of his voice.

          Turning away from her brother she addressed her uncle. “May we leave now?”

          “Yes, this way.” Rudy pointed to the door out to the tarmac. He briefly shook Mycroft’s hand and then escorted Eurus to the waiting helicopter. Mycroft worried his lower lip as he watched them leave.

 

          “Sir? Young sir?” Mycroft slowly came awake as the attendant shook his shoulder. Some how he had fallen asleep across the hard bench with his jacket as a pillow and his overcoat for a blanket. Mycroft sat up. “You have a call.” Mycroft nodded and quickly rubbed his hands over his face, scrubbing away the fatigue. He stood to follow the attendant only to have to stop and sneeze. “Bless,” called the attendant over his shoulder. Mycroft muttered his thanks, grabbed his jacket and hurried to the phone.

          “Mr. Holmes? I’m Governor Rubin at Sherrinford. Your uncle asked that I call you.”

          “Yes?” Mycroft had a very bad feeling.

          “Your uncle has taken ill, I’m sorry to say.”

          “Is he okay?” Mycroft bit his lip. “Did Eurus hurt him?”

          “Your sister? No, she is safe and secure. The doctors here are concerned he has had a heart attack. Once he is stable they will transfer him to the nearest hospital with the appropriate level of care.”

          “Can I see him?” As soon as the question left his lips Mycroft knew the answer was no.

          “There’s no easy way to get you here Mr. Holmes. Your uncle is most adamant you need to go to your parents as soon as possible. He said you must tell them.”

          “Yes, of course.” Mycroft shoved his worry aside. He could hear his uncle reminding him to leave sentiment behind. There was work to be done. “Have you contacted my aunt? I will need a way to get in touch with you.”

          “Yes, she has been informed. I’ll give you my private number,” the governor responded.

          Mycroft pulled a notebook and pen from his pocket and quickly noted the number. He rang off and dazedly returned the handle to its cradle.

          “Bad news sir?”

          Mycroft looked at the attendant, an older man greying and grizzled. He had been kind to Mycroft as the young man waited for his uncle’s return. Suddenly his emotions came rushing back. “My uncle has taken ill.” Mycroft’s voice trembled as he spoke. The attendant’s eyes widened.

          “Young miss?”

          Mycroft understood immediately the man meant his sister. Tears pricked in his eyes. He shook his head and blinked rapidly. Avoiding the question he replied, “They’re on their way to hospital.”

          “Oh sir.”

          “I have to tell my parents.”

          “Oh sir.” The attendant patted Mycroft’s arm. “You call them. Tell them you’re on your way. I’ll get your driver to warm up the car.”

          “Thank you,” Mycroft murmured. The attendant left him alone with the phone. Mycroft took a few deep breaths. What would he say? Would they believe him? A part of him argued he should simply tell the truth, Uncle Rudy’s plans be damned.

          He reached for the phone still unsure of the right course of action. It barely finished its first ring before the line was connected. “Rudy?” came his mother’s voice anxious and scared.

          “No,” Mycroft squeaked and he cleared his throat. “No, Mummy. It’s Mycroft.”

          “Oh. Where is your uncle, Mycroft?”

          “He… he… “ It was suddenly difficult to speak.

          “Speak up young man.” His mother spoke sharply. Mycroft winced and then swallowed.

          “He’s on his way to hospital. He’s had a heart attack.” Mycroft spoke clearly and succinctly. His free hand opened and closed at his side.

          “Oh,” her voice shocked and quiet. “Is… is Eurus all right?” Mycroft closed his eyes and listened with every fiber of his being. “He told us there’d been a fire and you were…” She had started strong and then trailed off. “Is Eurus with you?” Mycroft heard hope and fear and desperation in her voice. What did they mean?

 

_He knew he’d eaten too many biscuits and drank too much milk before bed. Now his bladder was forcing him out of his safe room. Creeping down the hall to the bathroom he paused hearing whimpers from Sherlock’s room. Peeping into the room he saw his mother sitting on the edge of his brother’s bed. She stroked Sherlock’s raven curls and she whispered to him. “Shh… she’s just a dream now. You’re safe dear. No one will harm you.” He stood listening to Mummy promise Sherlock the girl would never return._

 

          “Mycroft?”

          “No.”

          “No? Where is she?”

          “Mummy, I’m sorry. She died in the fire.” There was a long moan. “The girl the fire brigade found wasn’t her and then Uncle Rudy got sick.” Choked sobs came down the line and Mycroft could feel tears sliding down his own face. The lie came so easy to him in the end. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m so sorry.” He heard the phone on the other end clatter to the floor. He stood numbly gripping the handle at his end.

          “Mycroft?” A deep voice resonated his ear.

          “Father?”

          “Come home, son. Come home.”

          The line disconnected and Mycroft carefully replaced the handle in the cradle. He took out his handkerchief, wiped the tears from his face and then took a long breath. It was done.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Uncle Rudy regroup after sending Eurus to Sherrinford.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No I have not abandoned this WIP. In fact it is my goal this year to finish it. I hope everyone is still here along for the ride. I realize this kind of story isn't everyone's cup of tea and it is a lot more angsty then I am usually comfortable writing. However it is in my head, steadily knocking and asking to be written. I appreciate every kudos and comment that is left. It helps keep me going. <3

           The lie, which had seemed so difficult and in actuality so easy to tell, wasn’t the worst of it Mycroft soon realized. He hadn’t counted on all the other little untruths that would come with it. Then there were the old lies that did not die with Eurus. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes continued to support Sherlock’s fantasy that Redbeard was a dog and Eurus never existed. It made Mycroft’s head ache to manage so many secrets and lies. He was extremely relieved when he was finally allowed to visit his uncle, the only other person to know the complete, ugly truth.

 

            “Come in, my boy.” Rudy called from his bed to this nephew, who hovered at the door. Mycroft hesitated a moment before stepping into the hospital room.

            Margaret smiled at Mycroft and standing she kissed her husband’s cheek. “I’ll leave and let you two visit.” She gave Rudy’s hand a squeeze. “I’ll come back around dinner time.” She gave Mycroft a fond look as she left.

            Mycroft drifted further into the room. He hadn’t been to a hospital since Eurus was born. This room had more machines. His uncle lay in the bed wearing a hospital gown and wires attached to his chest. Rudy gave Mycroft a reassuring smile.

            “How are you, Uncle?”

            “I am fine, Mycroft.” Rudy responded. “Sit down. Visit with me.”

            Mycroft sat in the chair recently vacated by his aunt. He appraised his uncle with a critical eye. “You promised. No secrets or lies between us.”

            Rudy sighed. “I had some damage to it, but my heart is functioning well enough.” Mycroft waited knowing there was more. Eventually Rudy continued. “I’d be home, but they are having trouble getting my blood sugar under control. There. That is the long and the short of it.” Rudy looked at his nephew’s pale face and tired eyes. “And you, nephew-mine? Are you well?”

            “I am fine.” Rudy raised his eyebrows. Mycroft gave back a challenging glare. “I’m not in a hospital bed.”

            Rudy laughed. “Touché.” Mycroft managed a small smile.

The smile faded. Mycroft’s face became grim. “They are quite… grief stricken.” Mycroft paused and Rudy waited. “I didn’t think they’d be so affected.”

            “It is a terrible thing to lose a child, Mycroft.” Rudy responded carefully.

            “She was already lost. I don’t know why her being dead is any worse. I thought after the memorial service things would go back to the way they had been, but…”

            “But, what?”

            Mycroft glanced over his shoulder toward the open door. The corridor was empty. He turned back to his uncle, whispering. “I think Mummy knows I’m holding something back, that I’m lying. She snaps at me constantly and I can’t do anything right. I can feel her watching me all the time. She has asked me for details and I don’t know what to say.”

            “What do you say?”

            Mycroft shrugged miserably. “As much of the truth as I can or ‘I don’t know’. She isn’t satisfied. I’m afraid she will realize…” He trailed off, staring at the floor his shoulders slumped.

            Rudy made a soft, sympathetic noise. Mycroft shook himself and met his Uncle’s gaze. “I am worried about Sherlock as well. He is confused as to why Mummy and Father are so upset. He doesn’t believe it is all worry over you. He is angry with me since I brought the bad news in to the home, and he is having the nightmares again.”

            “You must monitor him, Mycroft.”

             “I know.” A wry smile crossed his lips. “He has no use for me during the day, but at night he comes to me when the dreams disturb him.” Again the smile, such as it was, was short lived. Mycroft looked haunted and tense.

             “Apologies, Mycroft. I had no idea how much strain this would cause you. It was not my intention to have you be the bearer of such awful tidings.” His nephew was too young to look so careworn, Rudy thought. His uncle wanted to erase the anguish from Mycroft’s eyes. “I’m sorry to burden you with such a terrible secret. Can you forgive me?”

             Mycroft could see his uncle was sincere in his apologies. “There’s nothing to forgive. Someone else had to know. I’m glad you trusted me.” He shook his head. “Still I’m grateful I’ll be leaving for Oxford at the end of the week.”

             Rudy smiled. “Speaking of Oxford. I have something for you. Look in the corner there. I had ordered it before all of this. When she was in London last Margaret picked it up for me to give to you.”

             Mycroft stood and found a tall, narrow box in the corner his uncle indicated. His eyes lit up and a grin spread over his face. “Is this what I think it is?”

             “I’m sure it is exactly what you think it is.” Rudy laughed to see the pleasure his gift was bringing his nephew.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year has gone by and Mycroft comes home for Christmas

_Approximately one year later, December 1986…_

 

          It had been nearly a year since he’d been home, but in Mycroft’s eyes little had changed in the sleepy village in which his parents lived. The scenery from the train windows was unchanged—open fields and sheep. The train station was still small and drab. The same shops were along the high street. The village church had the same crèche and decorations for the holiday season. Mycroft was certain the local theatre group would be performing the same panto it did every year.

          Mycroft, however, felt like a new person. He had a year of uni under his belt and a summer internship with the Ministry of Transport. He was well on his way to a career as a civil servant. He had a few acquaintances from his classes. There was no one as close as his theatre mates had been, but people with whom he could occasionally have tea or study. The events of last Christmas seemed to be a lifetime ago. He scarcely gave them any thought. Besides an occasional briefing from his uncle, they were for the most part it was a distant memory.

          As his train pulled into the station, Mycroft spotted his father on the platform. He hurried to get his bags and himself off the train.

          “Welcome home, Mycroft.” Mr. Holmes warmly greeted his elder son. He patted the young man on the shoulder as he took one of Mycroft’s suitcases. “Did you have a good trip?”

          “Passable. Thank you.” Mycroft realized he was looking slightly down to meet his father’s gaze.

          Mr. Holmes smiled. “You’ve grown even more. Your mother will be pleased.”

          Mycroft fought the urge to roll his eyes. Why it mattered to his mother how tall he was escaped him entirely. “How are Mummy and Sherlock?” he asked.

          “They’re fine. You mum’s been cooking all week getting ready for the holiday. Sherlock has been in his room cooking up who knows what. He keeps raiding your mother’s potato supply. She has had a number of rows with him about it.”

          They reached the car and stowed Mycroft’s bags in the boot. Once settled in their seats Mycroft risked asking his father the question that had been plaguing him. “Has he… remembered anything?”

          “No,” his father sighed. “Still believes Redbeard was a dog, his dog.”

          “And Eurus?”

          “Never mentions her.”

          The ride was peaceful. Mr. Holmes made a few comments about village life, his work, and Sherlock’s attempt to attend the local school. He asked Mycroft about his studies and Mycroft kept his answers simple and brief so as to not overwhelm his father. They arrived at the cottage in good time. Mrs. Holmes was waiting at the door.

          “Mikey!”

          “Mycroft,” he murmured as he leaned down to give his mother a kiss on the cheek.

          “How you’ve grown,” she exclaimed. Mycroft winced inwardly. “You’ve lost weight as well,” his mother patted his stomach. “It suits you.”

          “If I’ve passed inspection might I come in?”

          “Don’t be impertinent,” but his mother stood aside. “Hello, darling.” Mycroft could hear his parents briefly kiss behind him and he shuddered. He started up the stairs with his bags. His mother called up. “You’re in my study for the time being. Your aunt and uncle will be in your room when they arrive tomorrow.”

          Mycroft froze on the steps. He turned to look at his mother in disbelief. “Your study?”

         “Yes, the sofa is made up.”

         “Why me? Why not Sherlock? I won’t fit on the sofa.”

          “I wasn’t going to turn your brother out of his room. He has experiments.” Mycroft ground his teeth. He could tell what she meant was she didn’t want to clean Sherlock’s room to prepare it for guests. He stared at her. She stared back. “You’ll be fine.” Her tone was final.

           Mycroft bit back any further complaint and made his way to the study. He could hear his father attempt to plead his case. Mrs. Holmes would hear none of it.

           Mycroft looked around the cluttered room he’d been relegated to. Shelves were stuffed with textbooks and journals. Books were stacked on the floor obviously they’d been on the shelf that was now empty, presumably for his things. His mother’s desk was strewn with papers and bits of unfinished projects. The sofa sat tucked under an eave. It was made up with a pillow and blankets. Mycroft set his bags down somewhat out of the way. There was no convenient spot to open one. He sat on the couch, sinking low until his knees were higher than his hips.

          Mycroft pressed his fingers to his forehead and sighed. Almost a full year of separation and time for old wounds to heal, he’d hoped things would be better between him and his mother by now. Clearly they weren’t. There was still an unwarranted antagonism she held towards him. He could feel it. Mycroft also knew it wasn’t as unwarranted as one might think, but she couldn’t know that.

 

_Mycroft sat at the kitchen table warily watching his mother make tea. A plate of his favorite biscuits sat in front of him. Normally he’d want to eat the entire plate, but today his stomach was in knots._

_“And there’s nothing else you can tell me?”_

_“No,” Mycroft lied. “There’s nothing more to tell.”_

_Mrs. Holmes brought the tea mugs to the table and sat across from her son. She nudged the plate toward him. He shook his head. Mrs. Holmes raised her eyebrows. She sipped her tea and contemplated her oldest child. Mycroft fought not to squirm under her searching gaze. He calmly met her eyes._

_“Were you there when Rudy collapsed?”_

_“No.”_

_“No? He says you were,” she replied coolly._

_“I wasn’t in the room when he collapsed. I came in directly after,” Mycroft amended._

_“I see.”_

_After a moment Mycroft looked away and drank from his cup. The tea was bitter from being over brewed. He stared at the biscuits, considering. A soft sound caused him to look up to see his mother weeping. His heart contracted._

_“I’m sorry Mummy.”_

_“For what?” She brushed the tears away briskly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” Mycroft swallowed the lump in his throat. Mrs. Holmes saw the movement. “Did you?”_

_Mycroft shook his head. “No.”_

 

          Mycroft took a cleansing breath and stood knocking his head sharply on the sloping ceiling. “Bugger!” he exclaimed. Mycroft rubbed his head, ruffling his ginger hair.

          “Stuck you in the study, I see.” Sherlock was standing in the doorway, smirking.

          “Yes,” Mycroft sighed. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to let me sleep in your bed and you sleep here.”

          “No.” Sherlock scoffed at the suggestion.

          “I thought not,” Mycroft replied despondently.

          “What did you do to upset her?”

          “I don’t know.” Mycroft looked at the books on the shelves. “Not gone into maths or science I assume.” He shrugged.

          “Oh?” Sherlock smiled broadly. “I’m going to study chemistry.”

          “Are you?” Mycroft asked. “Do you have any experiments going on?”

          “Yes. Do you want to see?” The eagerness to show off to his brother was obvious.

          Mycroft smiled softly. “What are you working on?”

          “Batteries!”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's one of those infamous Christmases at the Holmes house.

_Christmas 5 years later, December 1991…_

 

            Mycroft couldn’t sleep. His back ached and his legs cramped. The couch in the study had not improved with age. Mycroft shifted onto his back and let his feet hang off the arm of the sofa. They quickly grew cold causing him to tuck them back under the duvet. His stomach growled. With a sigh, Mycroft sat up.

            Dinner had been wholly unsatisfactory. Mummy had been worrying if Margaret and Rudy would make it in time. When they did arrive, just shortly before dinner was served, she was irritable and on edge. The meal was tense. Rudy tried to eat sparingly, since it comprised mostly of foods that were starches and full of fat. Mummy assumed that her brother didn’t like her cooking. Mycroft, who was willing to indulge himself, was cut off by the snide comments about his weight from Sherlock and Mummy. And then there were Sherlock’s deductions…

 

            _“Darling, you’ve not touched your potatoes.” Mummy frowned at Father as he picked at his plate._

_“This is my second helping, dearest.”_

_“I imagine Father isn’t hungry since he’s been snacking on biscuits all afternoon.” Sherlock commented as he poked a Brussels sprout around his plate. “You can see by the powdered sugar on his sleeve he’s been into the rumballs.”_

_“You what?” Mummy frowned. “Those were after the service.”_

_“I only had a few.” Father murmured._

_“There better be enough left to have with coffee when we get back.”_

_“I’m sure there will be plenty enough.” Aunt Margaret replied diplomatically. Mummy huffed._

_“Might I have another slice of the roast?” Mycroft hoped to distract his mother from creating a scene about the Christmas biscuits._

_“Another?” His mother selected a small slice and put it on the offered plate. “You shouldn’t over do it, Mikey. You aren’t growing any more. How about you Sherlock?” She offered her youngest son a large, juicy piece._

_Sherlock smirked as the meat was set on his plate. He’d not touched his vegetables as far as Mycroft could tell._

_“Rudy?” Mummy gestured to the platter of sliced roast beef._

_“No thank you sister-mine.” Rudy smiled. “It is delicious, but if I’m to have any of your lovely biscuits I must pace myself.”_

_Mycroft reached for the bowl of potatoes. “Mikey you shouldn’t have any more potatoes.” Mummy moved the bowl out of reach. She passed him the Brussels sprouts. “Have more of these instead.”_

_“Mummy I don’t like Brussels sprouts.” Mycroft protested._

_“They are much better for your waistline then potatoes. How are you going to bring a young lady home if you are eating potatoes all the time? You’ll start to look like a potato.”_

_“Mummy…” Mycroft could hear the whine in his voice and shut himself up._

_“Mycroft is never going to bring a young lady home.” Sherlock pronounced around a mouthful of roast._

_“Oh Sherlock, there’s someone for everyone in this world.”_

_“I only meant… OW!” Sherlock glared across the table at his brother who’d suddenly developed an interest in the hated Brussels sprouts._

_“Mycroft is much too busy with his career to think about any relationship.” Uncle Rudy commented with a smile at his favorite nephew. Mycroft hummed in agreement as he choked down a sprout. Sherlock scowled at his brother. Mycroft returned the look._

_“All I know is I’m not getting any younger and I would like grandchildren to spoil.” Mummy took a bite of her dinner. “The Holmes name needs to be carried on. Not to mention you two are the last of this branch of the Stuarts.”_

_“Yes, Mummy.” Mycroft murmured._

_“You won’t get any grandchildren from Mycroft.” Sherlock started again. “Not unless …”_

_“Sherlock how was your school term?” Margaret interrupted._

_“Fine. I suppose.” Sherlock grumbled._

_“He’s doing very well in chemistry.” Mummy announced with pleasure. Mycroft felt the tension release in his shoulders. He kept his eyes on his plate as he listened to his mother extol the virtues and talents of her youngest son. Once he looked up to see Sherlock staring at him._

 

            The pangs in his stomach intensified. Mycroft stood hitting his head on the eave. Five years and he still hadn’t learned not to stand at his full height. He swore softly as he found his slippers and robe. Slipping out to the hall, Mycroft made his way to the kitchen.

            He’d skipped dessert after the church service not wanting to hear about his ‘waistline’ and ‘baby fat’ from his mother. He stuck to black coffee only. No doubt it was contributing to his wakefulness.

            Once in the kitchen Mycroft went to the refrigerator and poured himself a large glass of milk. There was just enough moonlight coming through the window to see. Staring at the biscuit tin he drank about half the glass before deciding to open said biscuit tin. His hand closed on a brownie when the lights came on. Mycroft froze.

            “Hah! Caught you red handed.” Sherlock crowed.

            Mycroft rolled his eyes and extracted the brownie from the tin. “What do you want Sherlock?” Mycroft snapped. He was still smarting from Sherlock’s jibes earlier in the evening.

            “Nothing. Just confirming my hypothesis that you really have no ability to resist knowing there are sweets in the house.”

            Mycroft took a defiant bite of the brownie. “You have no idea what I can and cannot resist.” His words muffled by the mouthful of brownie.

            “No?” Sherlock smirked. “I helped Mummy make those brownies especially for you.”

            Mycroft stopped chewing and stared at his brother. Sherlock grinned more broadly and his eyes gleamed with mischief. Mycroft turned to the sink and spat out the brownie. He rinsed his mouth vigorously and Sherlock sniggered watching his brother spit repeatedly into the sink.

            “What did you put in them?” Mycroft thought back to the evening. Who’d eaten the brownies?

            “Relax, Mycroft. Eat the brownie. You’ll sleep better.”

            “Marijuana. You put marijuana in the brownie.”

            “Can’t even taste it, can you? I did an exceptional job.”

            “Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock.” Mycroft sat at the table, pressing his hand to his forehead.

            “What? They’ll sleep soundly. Everyone will be in a better mood for it.” Mycroft groaned. “You should definitely have one.”

            “Why haven’t you had one, Sherlock?” Mycroft growled. He wanted to shake his brother.

            “I did.” Sherlock looked pensive.

            “So why aren’t you asleep instead of here hounding me about my eating habits in the middle of the night?”

            “Dreams.” Sherlock sounded very young and a little frightened.

            Mycroft straightened up to look at his brother. “Of what?” Mycroft asked, his voice strained but calm.

            “Nothing.” Sherlock shrugged. “Just some girl singing. Nonsense really.”

            “Was Redbeard in the dream?

            Sherlock thought a moment. “I’m not sure.” He shrugged “Doesn’t matter. I’m up now.” He had a manic gleam in his eyes. Mycroft wondered what else besides pot Sherlock had partaken that night.

            Mycroft sighed. It was going to be a long night, if he was not mistaken and he rarely was. “Do you want to play a game?”

            “Deductions?”

            “Certainly not.” Uncle Rudy announced as he wandered into the kitchen. “We’ve suffered enough from your games this evening.”

            Sherlock scowled. “What are you doing up?”

            “I came to get a glass of water.”

            Mycroft rose and went to get his uncle some water. “Are you feeling okay?” He resisted the urge to tattle on Sherlock.

            “I’m fine, Mycroft. Your Aunt Margaret, however, was higher than a kite when she went to bed.” He looked meaningfully at Sherlock. A small smile played across the younger boy’s face.

            “Brownies.” Mycroft pronounced grimly.

            “Well bring them here.” Rudy sat at the table and Mycroft brought over the water and the biscuit tin. Rudy looked inside and took out the biscuits. He then picked up a brownie and sniffed it. He took a small nibble. “The flavor is hardly detectable Sherlock, but I suspected the batch was under stirred given the state of your Aunt and that the rest of us seemed to be fine.” Rudy put the brownie back in the tin and poured his water over them all. Mycroft and Sherlock gaped as Rudy mashed the brownies and the water into a loose paste. He pushed the tin towards Sherlock when he was done. “Go flush that and then clean the tin.” Sherlock huffed and took the tin out of the kitchen.

            “Is Aunt Margaret alright?” Mycroft asked as he handed a kitchen towel to his uncle.

            Rudy wiped his hand off and then passed over a few of the remaining biscuits to his elder nephew. He took one himself and had a small bite. “She’ll be fine. She told me she suspected the biscuits had been doctored." He chuckled. "She wants to give Sherlock baking lessons now.” Mycroft sat back down, groaning.

            Sherlock returned with the tin and went to the sink to finish cleaning the container. Mycroft watched barely able to contain his smirk. Without a word Sherlock slid the clean tin across the table to Rudy. He started to leave the kitchen in an indignant silence. Rudy caught his wrist.

            “I don’t have to explain why it is dangerous to drug people without them being aware of it?”

            “No,” Sherlock replied stiffly.

            “Or that you risk much by taking such substances.”

            “I’m careful. I know my sources.”

            Rudy sighed and let go of his nephew's wrist. Sherlock once more started to leave the kitchen.

            “Cluedo?” Mycroft asked softly. Sherlock paused at the door.

            “Fine, but I’m Miss Scarlet.” He replied as he left to get the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know zip about baking with cannabis, but I tried to do my research. :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leg work, Mycroft was really rather good at it.

_Four years later, late January 1996…_

 

            It was close to 2 am when Mycroft left the Garda station. He had slipped out the back after having given his statement. The rest of his “mates” were being detained. He knew he needed to move quickly, but his nerves needed settling. He paused to light a fag he had bummed from another prisoner. He missed his umbrella as the cold January rain soaked his jacket. After a few puffs, he headed toward the drab flat he shared with the four other young men.

            Mycroft snuck in the back door without detection. He needed to get in and out before the authorities arrived. Hearing voices he paused outside the door of his flat. They were voices coming from inside the flat. Mycroft froze, listening. He recognized one of the voices but the other was unfamiliar.

            “That’s the third cell banjanxed in the last year and half.” The frustrated tone was tone was Declan, Deirdre’s brother.

            “There has to be a mole.” This voice was male. He sounded older and bored.

            “Who?” There was a pause. Mycroft held his breath. The sound of a fist hitting a solid surface almost made him jump. “These are our boyos. They’ve been with us for years.”

            “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is the one. It’s still intact, yeah?”

            “Aye, they’re in place.” Declan growled. Like a terrier, Mycroft knew the man wouldn’t stop worrying about the possible mole.

            “Then we’re still a go.” The older man was satisfied.

            “Do you know the target?” Declan asked and Mycroft hoped the older man would be indiscreet.

            “Aye, but I won’t be telling you.” A soft chuckle was audible. “But it’s a bonny one.”

            “Bastards deserve it keeping us out of the negotiations.”

            “Well, they’ll get it… any day now.” The mystery man confirmed. Declan grunted in agreement. “Did you find what you needed? We need to go before the Garda arrive.”

            Mycroft decided the passport and the stash of cash hidden in the flat wasn’t worth getting caught; he was supposedly still in Garda custody. He crept back down the stairs and out into the cold, wet night. He was very happy he had a back up plan.

            He found the nearest pay phone and placed a call. Setting aside his reluctance to go back out in the rain, Mycroft turned up his collar and left the shelter of the phone booth. He walked through back alleys and narrow side streets. Rain dripped off his nose and down the back of his neck. He ducked under eaves and awnings whenever possible. As he made his way to High Street, he remembered the last time he spoke with his mother.

 

_“Have another Mikey?” The bartender offered as Mycroft set down his empty pint glass._

_“Nah, I need to call me uncle.” He glanced over to the cluster of young men and women by the darts. They seemed occupied enough to risk it._

_“Your uncle in Derry?”_

_“Aye. It’s Christmas Eve. I’d be an eejit not to call my family.” The bartender nodded in agreement._

_Mycroft headed to the back of the pub where the phone booth was located. He liked this place for making a call, as the booth was an old fashioned one with a door that closed, keeping the conversation private. Mycroft dialed the number he’d memorized. Rudy picked up on the second ring._

_“Hello.”_

_“Howya Uncle. Happy Christmas!”_

_“And to you nephew-mine. What news?”_

_“Ah, nothing new. Just called because it’s Christmas.” Mycroft leaned back and looked out the glass toward the group of young people._

_“Found work yet?”_

_“Nah, there’s nowt. Just little jobs here and there. I get by.”_

_“Well keep your ear to the ground.”_

_“Aye, Uncle.”_

_“Your Mum’s here.”_

_Mycroft sat up and turned toward the telephone. “What?”_

_“Sorry ‘boyo’, she insisted. I’ll put her on.”_

_“Hello, Mikey.”_

_“Howya Mam?”_

_“Ugh. Do I have to listen to you speak so?”_

_“Aye. M’fine.” Mycroft replied, gritting his teeth._

_“Rudy says you’re again too busy to come home for Christmas.”_

_“Aye, Mam. M’staying warm.”_

_“Mikey!” The door to the booth shuddered with the pounding it was receiving. Mycroft jumped and looked around to see curvy, dark haired lass with green eyes yank open the door._

_“Deirdre! M’on the phone!” He twisted the mouthpiece away from his face._

_Deirdre was uncowed by Mycroft’s ferocious scowl. “Who’s me fella talking to?”_

_“It’s me Mam.” Mycroft replied shortly._

_“Mikey?” Mrs. Holmes could hear someone had interrupted them._

_“Oi, Mikey’s Mam,” Deirdre leaned in close and spoke loudly in the direction of the receiver. Mycroft could smell the whiskey on her breath. “It’s his turn at darts and I want to watch his beautiful arse as he shoots.”_

_“Jaysus, you’re langers,” Mycroft muttered._

_Deirdre turned her head; her mouth hovered over his lips and she grinned. With a firm kiss ending with a loud smack, she scampered off._

_“Good heavens.” Mrs. Holmes took a deep breath._

_“Sorry Mam.” Mycroft murmured._

_There was a moment of silence. “Be safe, my dear.” Mrs. Holmes finally said._

_“Aye Mam.” He heard the line being handed over to his uncle._

_“I’ll say goodbye as well. Call when you find work. Happy Christmas.”_

_“Aye Uncle.” The line disconnected._

 

            He found his way to High Street and left the hidden spaces of the alleys. Venturing out into the open he found the street empty and dark. The shops and restaurants were all closed. There were no residences on the street, so no risk of being observed by nosy neighbors. A car rolled down the street. It’s headlights lighting up the mist and rain. Mycroft ducked down an alleyway and pressed himself to the wall of the building. The sudden absence of water dripping on him was a relief. He watched the car pass by. As soon as it passed he sprinted down to the other end of the alley. He emerged to find the car waiting for him. With a quick glance to check the street was empty, Mycroft opened the passenger door and got inside.

            “Jaysus, Mikey! You’re soaked through.” Deirdre turned up the heat. She tried to brush the rain off of his coat.

            “You think? It’s bucketing down.” Mycroft pushed the soaked curls off his forehead and sniffed. The car was warm and the sudden change in temperature made him shiver. “You have it?”

            “Aye.” She reached into the backseat and felt around for her bag.

            Mycroft sneezed.

            “Dia lin.” She paused and he sneezed again. “Dia lin.”

            “Gabh mo leithscéal.” He wiped his hands on his damp trousers. Sniffling he wished for his handkerchief, but working class Irish lads didn’t carry such things. He wiped his nose with his sleeve.

            Deirdre handed over the envelope. He opened it to find a key and a hundred pounds. “Ta Deirdre.” Mycroft started to leave the car. A warm hand on his thigh stopped him.

            “You’re knackered. Come to mine for a kip. You need to dry off or you’ll end up with a bad dose.”

            Mycroft looked at the hand on his thigh and then transferred his gaze to the young woman next to him. He briefly searched her face, and then smiled insincerely. “I doubt Declan would approve.”

            “Fah, my brother doesn’t have to approve of who I sleep with.”

            Mycroft leaned over and cupped her cheek. He gently ran his thumb along her cheekbone. “The Garda are looking for me,” he lied.

            “Where will you go?”

            “Tell Declan I’m going back to Derry. To me uncle’s.”

            “You won’t be back, will you?”

            “No.” Mycroft’s eyes drifted to her lips and his hand slid to the back of her neck. He pulled her in for a long, slow, deep kiss. Taking his time, knowing this would be their last kiss.

A soft moan escaped from Deirdre as Mycroft pulled away. Her eyes slowly fluttered open as the car door closed. Mycroft escaped into the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dia lin--God bless us  
> Gabh mo leithscéal--Excuse me


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft with some difficulty finds his way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder, flashbacks are in italics.

_A few days later…_

 

            “Oh Mikey…” A familiar voice penetrated the miasma that had set up inside his brain. With difficulty Mycroft raised his head to look for the source of the voice. The concerned face of an older woman swam in and out of focus.

 

            “Mummy?” Mycroft wasn’t sure if what he was seeing was real.

 

            “Come along, my dear.” His mother’s voice gently prodded. Mycroft turned his head away and coughed. A hand rubbed his back in soothing circles. “Our car is out front. Your father is settling your tab.”

 

            She lightly tugged him, urging him up from his seat at the back of the pub. He caught his breath and stood wavering. The hand stayed on his back grounding him and keeping him balanced. “I need to talk to Rudy.” He murmured.

 

_The first night was spent huddled in a garden shed at the back of a churchyard. It was cold but at least it was dry. He wrapped the old blanket he had hidden there, when he scouted the place as a bolthole, around his shoulders and dozed lightly for a few hours. It was still dark when he emerged to relieve himself and stretch. For a mercy the rain had stopped but the air was cold and damp, triggering shivers and a deep cough. Mycroft wished for a cigarette to soothe his throat and his nerves. He pulled the key he had gotten earlier that morning out of his pocket and contemplated it. As he gazed at the key a plan formed._

 

            Mycroft groaned as his body was jarred. Every bone ached. “Be more careful, please,” his mother fussed. Mycroft felt her hand pet his hair. He cracked his eyes open and saw the back of a car seat. Maps were sticking out of the seat pocket. The familiar sound of the engine and stain on the upholstery of the car seat comforted him as much as the soft thigh under his cheek. His eyes drifted shut.

 

            _It took time to get to the bus station on foot. Once there he bought a ticket for the next bus to Derry. He had time to kill and chose to make himself as conspicuous as possible. He had a conversation with the server at the coffee trolley. He cadged a cigarette from an elderly man who’d just arrived from Dublin. Mycroft flirted with the young woman at the ticket counter making her blush and giggle. When his bus arrived he was the first on board. He sat up front and nodding and greeting each passenger as they boarded. Just before departure he slipped off and snuck away._

 

            “Let’s get you upstairs and in bed.” His father’s arm was wrapped around his waist and Mycroft leaned against the man as they climbed.

 

            “Put him in the guest room.” Mrs. Holmes instructed from the bottom of the stairs.

 

            “You mean his bedroom.”

 

            “Yes, yes.”

 

            Mycroft concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. He felt so muzzy and unsteady. His father gently guided him to the side of the bed and Mycroft sat down, tempted to immediately lie back. Mr. Holmes knelt at his son’s feet and began to take off the worn brogues.

 

            Mycroft sniffled. “I don’t feel good.”

 

            “No, son, I don’t imagine you do.” Mr. Holmes patted his son’s knee sympathetically.

 

            _That performance at the bus station left him exhausted. His throat was dry and scratchy from all the talking. Needing a quiet place to recover, he found a café down a side street. He sat in the back feeling weary and chilled. The tea was watery but hot and he treated himself to a bowl of porridge. After a bit of a rest he paid his bill and left, lifting a scarf and a hat from the coat rack by the door._

_Feeling marginally better for having had tea and less chilled with his “new” scarf and hat, Mycroft made his way to the train station. He took a circuitous route avoiding any areas where he might encounter Declan, Deirdre or any of his former “mates”. He didn’t think the Garda would have released his flat mates by now but he couldn’t be too careful._

 

            Mycroft shivered and coughed under the blankets. His head throbbed with each beat of his racing heart. He could hear his parents in the hallway. They had to know he could hear them. He could always hear them when they spoke in the hallway. Old habits died hard.    

 

            “No, Charlotte. He’s too weak.”

 

            “He is positively filthy and a bath will help lower his temperature.”

 

            “He’s over 6 feet tall and 26 years old. You and I cannot man handle him into the bathtub. It was difficult enough to get him in pajamas. Let him sleep. We can wash the sheets when he’s able to get up and bathe on his own.”

 

            “I just…” His mother sighed. “I want something to do.”

 

            “We got him home and in bed. You got him to take some paracetamol and drink some water. It’s time to let him rest.”

 

            A door slammed and a voice shouted, “Are there biscuits?”

 

            “I’m coming Sherlock. Do be quiet.”

 

            Mycroft smiled at the sound of his mother fussing at his brother.

 

_By the time he arrived at the train station his energy had flagged again. A headache had developed behind and under his right eye. He had stopped at a small shop to pick up ibuprofen to ward off the impending migraine. Mycroft found the bank of lockers and after a moment of deduction he determined for which locker he had the key. Inside he found more money and a passport, British. Mycroft studied the picture. Fuck, brown hair and brown eyes. He peered into the locker again and discovered a small bag. He shoved the bag, money and passport into his coat._

_“What you got there, Mikey?”_

_Mycroft froze at the sound of the man’s voice behind him._

_“It’s a train Da!” A small boy chirped._

_“Isn’t it a grand one, yeah?”_

_Mycroft carefully closed the locker. He really needed to get out of Belfast._

            His breath caught in his chest. The pressure built as his body tried to expel the used air and draw in fresh. With a sputtering cough, loose and phlegmy, Mycroft came awake. A disgusting amount of mucus filled his mouth as he struggled to sit up. He looked around in the dark for tissues, a handkerchief, or even a cup. Having no other recourse he swallowed it down.

 

            In the moonlight the room was a strange mix of familiar and unfamiliar. There was a tapping sound and the door swung open, the hall light spilling into the room. His mother came in carrying a glass of water. “I heard you coughing all the way downstairs. I brought you some water.”

 

            Mycroft sat up further confused. His chest burned with each breath and he started to cough again. “Thank you,” Mycroft gasped. Mummy sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the fit to subside.

 

            Mycroft held the collar of his pajama top across his face as he coughed. He realized he wearing his father’s nightclothes. He’d no memory of how he came to be in them or tucked into his old bed. His breathing settled and he took the glass from his mother, drinking greedily.

 

            When he finished she took the glass. “Better?” Mycroft nodded in reply as he started to cough again. Mummy rubbed his back. “Poor lamb,” she murmured. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a bottle of Codeine Linctus and a measuring spoon. Pouring a small amount into the spoon, Mummy instructed Mycroft to open up. He obeyed and was dosed with the syrup. She dropped the spoon into the empty glass with soft clink. “Now back to sleep.” She smiled softly as she plumped and stacked his pillows. He lay back and watched her face as she tucked the blankets around him. It had been years since she had shown this kind of tenderness towards him.

 

            Mycroft dared not speak afraid the coughing would return, but smiled tentatively back at his mother. She left him moments later and Mycroft tried to remember how he got from Belfast to his old bedroom in his parent’s home.

 

_Opening the bag from the locker in the gents at the train station he found brown contact lenses and a dark brown hair rinse inside. Right away he put in the contact lenses and then shoved his hair up under the hat. He would need more privacy to dye his hair. He looked in the mirror and determined better clothes for traveling as well as a shave were in order. A ginger beard would not go with brown hair._

_At the charity shops luck was with him. He found a passable suit. It was a bit big for his lanky frame but it was long enough. Next he checked into a youth hostel. There he was able to clean up, shave and put the brown rinse through his hair. He slept poorly that night though the dorm was mostly empty. The cough kept nagging at him and he couldn’t get warm under the thin blanket. It wasn’t until the wee hours of the morning that he fell into an exhausted sleep._

            The angle of the sun through the bedroom window told him it was morning. He could hear his mother and Sherlock downstairs. Their words were indistinct but the tone of them indicated an argument. Occasionally his father’s deeper voice filtered through, trying to placate one of them.

 

            Mycroft’s bladder insisted he get up. Slowly he got out of bed and crossed the hall to the loo. Weak and dizzy, he managed to relieve himself and wash his hands and face. He avoided the mirror, knowing he looked like a horror.

 

             As he crossed back to his room, he heard his mother call out. “Where do you think you are going?” Mycroft paused confused, not sure if he was the one being spoken to.

 

             “Out!” Sherlock shouted.

 

             “Out where?” The door slammed on the question.

 

            Mycroft headed back to the bedroom and crawled under the covers. He really wasn’t feeling up to Sherlock’s dramatics.

_The next morning Mycroft awoke much later than he wanted. He was congested and lightheaded. He thought he’d never stop sneezing. His nose was red and sore from using toilet roll to blow it. No amount of the water he drank soothed his aching throat. He took the last of his ibuprofen and forced himself to get moving. He had a ferry to catch._

_Mycroft hurried to the bus station. He needed to get to Dún Laoghaire before the ferry left for Holyhead. His legs felt heavy and he was having trouble catching his breath after his frequent bouts of coughing. He threw caution aside and took the most direct route. He arrived at the station before the bus left, but the seats were all sold. There would be another bus in an hour, but it would not arrive in Dún Laoghaire in time for him to catch the ferry. He’d be stuck in Dún Laoghaire for a day before the next ferry to Holyhead. Mycroft went to the gents and hid in a stall to think._


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mummy pushes Mycroft to make a career change.

            A gentle hand stroked his forehead. “Mikey… Mikey… “ A woman’s voice called to him.

 

            “M’sleeping, Deirdre,” he mumbled. “Not now.” He rolled away curling tight under the blankets.

 

            “It’s Mummy, Mikey,” was the amused reply.

 

            Mycroft’s eyes shot open. “Mummy?” He turned back over and sat up quickly. The room spun and nausea rose up to grip his throat. Mycroft flopped back, screwing his eyes shut. He panted through the urge to vomit, his hands clutching the bedclothes.

 

            “Oh dear, it’s one of your dizzy spells.” Mummy put her hands on his shoulders to push him firmly against the mattress. “You’re not moving, Mikey. You’re completely still, lying flat.” She calmly set up a chant and Mycroft started to whisper it to himself.

            “Not moving, completely still, lying flat,” Mycroft and his mother murmured in unison. The spins abated and the nausea subsided. Mycroft blinked open his eyes.

 

            “Alright?”

 

            “Yes,” Mycroft swallowed tentatively.

 

            “I brought you tea. I’ll make the ginger tea for you next time.” Mrs. Holmes helped her son sit up slowly. She handed him a mug of hot sweet tea.

 

            “No need to go to the trouble.” Mycroft said as he savored the warmth of the mug in his hands. Ginger tea was vile in his opinion. He blew across the top of the cup.

 

            “It’s no trouble and it will settle your stomach.”

 

            Mycroft made a noncommittal noise and sipped at his tea, mindful of its heat. Mrs. Holmes watched him drink. He could see worry and anxiety in her eyes. Knowing it was for him made him feel uncomfortable yet vaguely pleased. He drank more of the tea and decided to ask the question that was bothering him.

 

            “How did I get here?”

 

            “You’re uncle called us to pick you up from some dreadful coastal town in Scotland.”

 

            Mycroft wracked his brain. He had no memory of speaking with his uncle. He barely had any memory of where he’d been the last few days. “Stranraer?”

 

            “Yes, that’s the one.” Mummy concurred. “You were delirious with fever, but somehow managed to call your uncle.”

 

            It had been plan B then. Mycroft finished his tea.

 

            His mother took the mug and set it aside. “Speaking of.” She pulled back the duvet and blankets, slipping her hand up under his shirt.

 

            “Mummy!” Mycroft was too startled to push her hand away.

 

            “I’m checking your temperature.” She rested her hand on his belly. “Hmm… better but still too warm.” She pulled her hand out and tucked the bedclothes back around him.

 

            “Wouldn’t a thermometer be better,” Mycroft grumbled. He adjusted his clothing under the covers.

 

            His mother gazed at him fondly. “Unnecessary. As a baby your tummy…” Mycroft winced. “Would get so hot. With Sherlock the back of his neck would radiate heat and Eurus…” She faltered. Mycroft bit his lip. Taking a breath Mrs. Holmes continued. “Her hands would feel like fire. I always knew when any of you had a fever just by touch.”

 

            Mycroft sniffled and rubbed his nose. “Are there—“

 

            “Tissues?” His mother moved a box into view. Mycroft pulled a few, nodding his thanks. “Bless you.” She offered cheerily as Mycroft sneezed. “Shall I get you some paracetamol?”

 

           “Please,” Mycroft replied before sneezing again.

 

           “Bless you.” Mycroft sneezed a third time. “Blow your nose or you’ll end up in one of your fits.” She advised as she left the room.

 

            Flushing, Mycroft applied himself to clearing his sinuses as best he could. He was 26 years old, a grown man. He worked for MI5 and had been undercover in Northern Ireland for the past two years sabotaging IRA cells. How easily she made him feel, with just a few words, like a snot-nosed six-year old. It astonished him.

 

            He lay back down, light-headed from blowing his nose and sneezing, and tried to remember the past few days. If Rudy had called his parents then he must have spoken with Rudy when he arrived in Stanraer. He just didn’t remember what he said and wondered if it was at all coherent.

 

_Mycroft gingerly wiped his nose with paper from the toilet roll in the bathroom stall. He could hear other men enter, use the urinals, and leave. He needed to get back to the UK. The information he learned needed to be acted on. He could call with it, but there was a lot to explain and that would be better done in person. He didn’t have the means for a plane ticket. Besides, flying was obvious and the airport was likely to be monitored by the IRA. The ferry service was his best bet. He had wanted to avoid the ferry from Belfast; again it was obvious. Closing his eyes, Mycroft leaned his head against the stall wall. It felt blessedly cool._

_He opened his eyes and realized his mouth was dry as if he had been breathing through it. He must have dozed off. Mycroft shook himself and left the stall to wash his face. The brief rest actually provided him with a spurt of energy and a plan B. He would go to the docks in Belfast. There was a ferry to Stanraer once a day. If the ferry had left then he’d come back to the bus station and go to Dún Laoghaire to take the ferry to Holyhead the next day. He may have to stay the night on the streets in Dún Laoghaire if that was the case, but he’d not spend a minute more in Northern Ireland than needed._

_The journey to the port was uneventful. He simply took the next bus. There his luck improved and the ferry was still there, accepting passengers. He was able to afford the ticket. Mycroft bought a cup of tea with a bit of his remaining funds. He hunkered down in a seat inside the cabin and close to the door. He watched the other passengers arrive, his attention focused and on high alert, but saw no one he knew or thought would know him. When the ferry pulled away he let go a sigh. A chill wracked his frame. “Almost there, almost there,” the engine of the ferry chugged rhythmically. The port drifted away and when finally out of view, Mycroft closed his eyes._

 

            A light tap on the door roused Mycroft from a light doze. His mother came in carrying the promised medication and a glass of water. “Your uncle just called to say he’s on his way.”

 

            Mycroft started to speak, then cleared his throat. He eased himself into a sitting position and took the paracetamol with a large swallow of water. His mother watched him closely for signs of vertigo. “I should dress. Where are my clothes?”

 

            “I binned them.”

 

            “You what?” Mycroft squeaked and started to cough.

 

            “They were horrid and reeked of fish.” Mummy gave Mycroft a meaningful glare. “And cigarettes.”

 

            Mycroft ignored the look. “What am I supposed to wear? Father’s pajamas?” Mycroft plucked at the nightclothes he was wearing. He really didn’t want to think too hard about how he got in them.

 

            “He’s your uncle. He won’t care. He’s seen you in your pajamas, and less.”

 

            “He’s not coming here as my uncle. He’s coming here in his official capacity as one of my superiors.”

 

            Mummy rolled her eyes. “I’ll find you something of your father’s to wear.”

 

            “Thank you.” Mycroft replied less than graciously. He pushed back the covers and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

 

            “Where do you think you’re going?”

 

            “The facilities. Unless you’re willing to bring me a bedpan and give me a sponge bath.” Mycroft prepared to stand.

 

            “Don’t be cheeky.” His mother hovered nearby.

 

            “I’m not the one who put their hand on my bare stomach to check my temperature.” Mycroft groaned and stood trembling. He leaned heavily on the bedpost.

 

            Mummy only huffed and gripped Mycroft’s elbow to steady him. She assisted him to the bathroom, leaving him alone only when she was assured that he could stand on his own.

 

            The hot shower felt wonderful. Mycroft heard his mother enter and exit as he was bathing. When he got out of the shower there was a stack of clothes. The trousers were a bit large in the waist and short in the leg. He let them ride low below his waist. Similarly the button down hung loose on his frame. Mycroft donned the capacious cardigan and checked his reflection. He was pale with deep purple rings around his eyes. His nose glowed red. He was most startled by the brown rinse in his hair. He’d forgotten about it, but he decided he liked how it dimmed the carrot-like color of his hair.

 

            Mycroft made his way down stairs to the kitchen. His mother was at the stove and gave him a small smile as Mycroft seated himself at the table. She brought him a steaming mug of ginger tea.

 

            “Drink that and I’ll get you something to eat.” She bustled around the kitchen collecting ingredients.

 

            “I’m not hungry.” Mycroft sipped the tea and made a moue of distaste.

 

            “That’s the fever talking. You need food. You’re as thin as a rail. Did you not eat in Ireland?”

 

            Mycroft didn’t answer. He was annoyed. The last time he’d been home she had accused him of becoming a potato. Now apparently he hadn’t eaten enough potatoes. He took another drink of his tea. The steam and the sting of the ginger went straight to his sinuses making him sniffle and sneeze.

 

            “Gracious Mikey. Bless you.” Mrs. Holmes brought over a box of tissues.

 

            “Apologies,” Mycroft mumbled.

 

            Mummy patted his shoulder. “Finish your tea, dear.” She went back to the hob.

 

            Mycroft stuck his tongue out at her back.

 

            “You can stop scowling at me.” She replied without turning around.

 

            Glaring balefully at his mother he choked down the rest of the tea. “There finished. Might I have a glass of water, or better whiskey?”

 

            “You know it settles your stomach.”

 

            Mycroft rolled his eyes. Mummy brought over Mycroft’s food and set it down. He stared at the plate. “What is this?”

 

            “It’s a grilled cheese sandwich. I remember you always liked grilled cheese when you were ill.” She turned away to fill a glass with water.

 

            “No, that’s Sherlock.”

 

            She returned to the table and set down the glass of water, staring at the sandwich. “No… You like soft boiled eggs and buttered toast.” Her voice was quiet. “Sherlock wanted grilled cheese and Eurus… would ask for peanut butter and honey.” She moved to take the plate away.

 

            Mycroft touched her arm. “I’ll eat it.” His heart ached.

 

            “I can make you egg and toast soldiers.”

 

            Mycroft looked up at his mother. Her face was pale with grief. “Later. I’ll eat this now. You can make me an egg and toast later.” He wanted to ease her hurt. “Please sit with me.”

 

            Mrs. Holmes blinked rapidly for a moment. “Of course.” She gave her son a tight smile and brought over her mug of tea before sitting.

 

            “Where is Sherlock?” Mycroft asked as he took a bite of his sandwich. “And father.”

 

            “Sherlock is at school and your father is at work.”

 

            Mycroft frowned. “It’s Sunday… Isn’t it?”

 

            “No, it’s Monday. Rudy called us on Saturday to let us know you were back in the country and quite unwell. We were closer then any of his people, so we drove up to collect you.”

 

            “I meant to go to Liverpool,” Mycroft murmured. It was disconcerting that there were several days he didn’t quite remember. It almost made him doubt if he remembered the details of the information he needed to give his uncle. Almost.

 

            “Yes, well, I’m glad you’re back and safe.” Mrs. Holmes spoke briskly.

 

            “Oh?” Mycroft took another of the sandwich. He was mildly surprised by the statement.

 

            “I wanted to speak with you about your brother.” Mycroft didn’t respond but continued to eat. His mother plowed on. “He was accepted at Cambridge and will start in the fall.”

 

            “I must tell him congratulations.” Mycroft paused, a bit puzzled. “Shouldn’t have Sherlock started _last_ fall?”

 

            “Yes,” Mummy took a sip of her tea. “He was accepted last year, but your father and I were…” Mycroft sat back and watched his mother. “Concerned and we advised he delay his acceptance a year.”

 

She was uneasy, worried. Mycroft’s heart sank. He saw it all now. His mother’s anxiety was about Sherlock and whatever his problem was. Not Mycroft and the fact he had just returned home, ill, from a dangerous assignment. Pushing aside his wounded feelings, Mycroft focused his attention on his mother. He thrust the sandwich aside, half eaten.

 

            “What is worrying you?”

 

            “Your brother has been experimenting with drugs.” Mrs. Holmes decided to be blunt. “We’ve found marijuana in his room. He’s come home drunk a few times. I suspect there is more.”

 

            “I see.” None of this surprised Mycroft and he had a strong suspicion what was coming next.

 

            “We’ve had him in outpatient therapy for the past year, but he talks his way around the therapists and out of their programs.” His mother stared out the window.

 

            “And nothing changes.” Mycroft added.

 

            “Yes, nothing changes. I worry about when he goes to Cambridge. We won’t be able to keep an eye on him.” She looked directly at Mycroft. “I’m asking you, as his elder brother, to look after him. You’ll be in a better position to do so then we will.”

 

            This was exactly what he expected. “If I don’t go back in the field.” Mycroft voiced the caveat that would be needed for her plan to be feasible.

 

            “Yes, if you choose not to return to field work.”

 

            Mycroft was quiet. He took a tissue to blow his nose and give him time to think. Her use of the word “choose” didn’t fool him. There really was no choice.

 

            “He’s so troubled,” his mother went on. “We’ve given him every advantage. I don’t know why he is so difficult.”

 

            Mycroft looked at his mother, incredulous. “You can’t fathom why? Don’t you think his past traumas might have something to do with it?”

 

            “What would you have me do? I can’t tell him his now dead sister likely killed his best friend. It’s been over a decade.” Mummy countered. “If he’s not remembered it by now then he’ll never remember. Let sleeping dogs lie.” Her tone was cutting and dismissive.

 

            “Hullo?” A voice called from the hall. “The front door was open so I let myself in.” Rudy appeared in the kitchen. He noted the tense atmosphere between his nephew and sister. “Charlotte.” He kissed his sister on the cheek.

 

            “Hello Rudy. Would you like some tea?” She smiled at her brother.

 

            “Please, if it’s no trouble.” He took his sister’s chair as she left it. Rudy looked at Mycroft who was glaring daggers at his mother. “Mycroft, my boy, you look terrible.”

 

            Mycroft started to greet his uncle but was over come with a fit of coughing.

 

            “You should have seen him when we picked him up. He could barely walk.” Mrs. Holmes commented as she brought over her brother’s tea. She picked up Mycroft’s empty mug and cleared his half eaten sandwich. “I’ll thank you not to wear him out. He’s only just gotten out of bed.”

 

            “Mummy…” Mycroft huffed.

 

            “Of course sister-mine,” Rudy agreed easily. He winked conspiratorially at his nephew.

 

            Mummy returned Mycroft’s mug to him refilled and squeezed his shoulder gently. “I’ll leave you two to talk. I’ll be in my study upstairs.”

 

            Rudy waited a few moments after his sister left the room. Mycroft had pulled more tissues, avoiding his uncle’s gaze. “You’ve had a row.”

 

            Mycroft held up a hand and sneezed.

 

            “Bless you… and again. Blow your nose or you’ll never stop.”

 

            “Excuse me.” Mycroft wiped his nose. “She wants me to quit fieldwork.”

 

            Rudy nodded. “That’s understandable. She’s your mother. She worries about you.”

 

            Mycroft gave Rudy a pitying stare. “No she doesn’t. She worries about Sherlock.”

 

            “Oh?”

 

            Mycroft sighed and hunched over his tea. “She wants me to quit so I can keep an eye on Sherlock while he’s at Cambridge. He’s apparently developed a drug habit and their efforts to get him to quit aren’t working.”

 

            “I see.” Rudy did see. His sister was a very clever woman. Her “request” got her elder son out of dangerous covert operations and provided her younger son with a guardian. “What are you going to do?”

 

            “What choice do I have?” Mycroft sounded resigned. He sniffed, coughed harshly, and then drank some of his tea. “I suppose it’s for the best. I didn’t much enjoy being undercover. It’s very tedious, you know?”

 

            Rudy nodded. “I remember.” They sat quietly as Mycroft sniffled and brooded. “You’re always welcome in my department.” Rudy offered.

 

            “Thank you Uncle.”

 

            “Nonsense, I’ve been trying to get you to join us since you started.” That brought a smile to Mycroft’s face.

 

            “I guess I’ll speak with Blake when I return.”

 

            “If you think you’ll be well enough I’ll drive us back to London tomorrow.”

 

            “I’m sure the trip to London will be much more tolerable then my journey from Belfast.” Mycroft said wryly.

 

            “Have you remembered anything else?”

 

            “No, I barely remember arriving in Scotland. After that…” Mycroft shrugged.

 

            Rudy opened his briefcase and began pulling files out of it. “Let’s go over what you told us and what we’ve learned since. Perhaps it will jog your memory.” He laid the files out on the kitchen table and the two men started pouring over the contents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On February 9th 1996 the IRA bombed Canary Wharf ending the 18-month ceasefire. Two people died in the blast and 100 people were injured. There is speculation that MI5 had the information needed to have prevented the bombing but the bureaucracy of the agency prevented the information from reaching the appropriate officials in time.  


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "All lives end. All hearts are broken."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a character death in this chapter. It isn't gruesome but it might be a bit tough for anyone who has had to take a loved one off life support.

_Fall 1997…_

 

            Mycroft sat in the chair staring at the figure in the hospital bed. The ventilator’s rhythmic hissing had lulled him into a quiet, contemplative state. He’d spent a lot of time sitting at the side of hospital beds of late.

 

            Two weeks ago his dinner date had been interrupted by a call bringing him to a hospital bedside. That night he engaged in a battle of wills with his brother. With the support of the hospital staff and Uncle Rudy, Mycroft finally made good on his promise to send Sherlock to rehab.

 

            He thought that meant a reprieve from his hospital vigils, for a few weeks at least. It was only a scant few days and he was back. Mycroft pressed his steepled fingers to his lips. This vigil was different he knew down deep, but he kept pushing away those thoughts.

 

            The door opened behind him. Mycroft tensed and turned to see a nurse enter. She spared him a kind smile and went about her business recording vitals, checking tubing and measuring waste. Engrossed his own monitoring, Mycroft missed the door opening again.

 

            “Mikey.” His mother’s hand dropped on his shoulder, causing him to jump. “Your aunt would like to speak with you.”

 

            Numbly he stood. “Of course.” His face carefully blank he started to leave the room. A soft sound made him glance over his shoulder to see his mother take her brother’s hand and press it to her cheek. His heart began to pound. Mycroft ignored the rising panic and went to find his aunt.

 

            Mycroft was directed to the family room just outside of the intensive care unit. There he found his aunt sitting at the empty conference table. She was staring at her hands and twisting her wedding band.

 

            “Aunt Margaret?”

 

            Margaret looked up, her eyes red and watery. She tried to give Mycroft a slight smile. “Mycroft.” Her voice broke and she gasped, choking back a sob. She rose holding her arms out. “Oh God, Mycroft.” She moaned as she wrapped her arms around him.

 

            Mycroft felt awkward returning her embrace. The Holmes weren’t a hugging family and the most intimate contact he’d ever had with his aunt was to kiss her cheek. She sagged against his chest and began to weep. He held her gently. She felt fragile to him and it reminded him to be strong. “What…” he asked after a few moments “What did they say?”

 

            She pulled back and wiped the tears from her face. He released her to hand her his handkerchief. “There was a second stroke. It was large and caused even more damage.”

 

            “What does that mean?” Mycroft’s orderly mind was racing. It made him feel dizzy. Or perhaps that was because he was starting to hyperventilate. He forced himself to slow his breathing.

 

            “It means we have to let him go.”

 

            “Go?” This couldn’t be real. This wasn’t happening.

 

            His mother joined them. Solemnly she touched Margaret’s arm. “They are taking out the tube now and disconnecting the monitors. We can go back in when they are done.”

 

            “Mummy?” Mycroft hated the plaintiveness of his voice. He searched his mother’s face and felt her devastation penetrate his soul. “There’s no other choice? Nothing else they can do?”

 

            His mother reached up and cupped his cheek. “No, Mikey. There is nothing else. The damage from the second stroke was too extensive.”

 

            Mycroft closed his eyes. All those horrid thoughts he’d kept at bay began to bubble up. His mouth filled with saliva. Waves of nausea crashed over him. The world shifted and he fought the urge to run. Where would he go, he didn’t know, the places where he felt safe were rapidly diminishing.

 

            “You can go back in now.” Mycroft opened his eyes to see the nurse with the kind smile.

 

            She guided them back to his uncle’s room. His mother and aunt entered, but Mycroft held back at the door. His uncle looked so small and still. His mouth was twisted on one side and gaped open. He hadn’t noticed the asymmetry when the airway was in place. The machines had been pushed away from the bed and another chair sat near the bed. A lone IV hung from a nearby pole.

 

            Margaret kissed Rudy’s forehead before sitting and taking his limp hand. His mother stood nearby laying a comforting arm over her sister-in-law's shoulders, as she wiped her own eyes with her other hand.

 

            “Are you going in?” Mycroft startled and turned to see the nurse.

 

            “I…” A harsh gasp filled the room. Mycroft whipped around to see his uncle’s chest rise. His aunt was murmuring a prayer he thought. It was difficult to hear over the roaring that was filing his ears.

 

            “Cheyne-Stokes breathing.” The nurse explained softly.

 

            “He’s not…” Another loud breath occurred. Mycroft shuddered at the sound and a cold sweat broke out on his skin. “He’s not suffering, is he?”

 

            “No." A deep rattling breath erupted. “It won’t be very long. Do you want to say goodbye?”

 

            Her words spoken with infinite kindness broke his tenuous control. “I… No… I can’t…” Mycroft backed away and fled.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are no good goodbyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As noted previously passages in italics are flashbacks.
> 
> A continuation of the character death from the previous chapter.

            In truth he didn’t go far. Mycroft only got as far as the visitor’s bathroom where he promptly vomited what little he had eaten that day. He rinsed his mouth and stared at his reflection in the mirror. A pale face with freckles sprinkled over his ever-widening forehead looked back at him. What hair he still had left refused to behave. He wet his hand and tried to smooth back the curl that dangled down. There was nothing he could do about the raw grief that filled his eyes.

 

            Mycroft dried his hands and face and made his way back to the ICU. He stood in the doorway of his uncle’s room. It seemed so empty without the machines and monitors. His mother was gone, presumably to get tea. It was her default activity when things were difficult or tense. His aunt sat in the chair by the bed. She turned and gave him a woeful grimace. “Come in Mycroft.”

 

            Reluctantly he shuffled into the room.

 

            “You should say your good byes.” She stood. “I’ll give you a moment alone.”

 

            Mycroft nodded numbly. She guided him to the chair and made sure he sat. Patting his shoulder she left the room.

 

            Mycroft took his uncle’s hand as he supposed it was what he should do. It was cold, limp and felt oddly small. For a moment he thought his uncle had passed, but an agonal breath erupted. Startled Mycroft gripped his uncle’s hand. He felt the fingers twitch, then go still. He felt so lost and bewildered.

 

            “I’m supposed to say goodbye,” he whispered. He stared at his uncle, searching for any sign that he was heard. His heart shriveled in his chest. “But I don’t know how. I don’t know how.” Mycroft bowed his head and wept silently.

 

 

_Mycroft entered his uncle’s office with an armful of books. It was late in the evening and the floor was empty. The light from his uncle’s office was the only one on. Rudy sat at his desk perusing a file. Mycroft cleared his throat. His arms were too full to knock._

_“Ah wonderful!” Rudy greeted his nephew. He gestured to the clear corner of his desk. “Did you find everything?”_

_“Yes, though I’m not sure why she wants a book on motorcycle maintenance.”_

_“I stopped asking ‘why’ long ago. It’s just simpler to buy what she wishes—within reason.” Rudy started looking through the titles. A particular book caught his attention. “What is this?_

_Mycroft looked at the book his uncle held. It was a book on making intricate paper airplanes. “Oh I picked that one out for her. She used to be fascinated by airplanes as a child. I thought she might like it.”_

_“Indeed. I believe she will.”_

_“So when are you planning to go?”_

_“I’ve been meaning to speak with you about that.” Rudy motioned for Mycroft to sit down. “I’d like you to come with me on this trip. It’s time you saw your sister again.”_

_Mycroft wondered when his uncle would suggest this. Rudy’s health had declined in recent years. He’d regained the weight he had lost and often looked fatigued and care worn. Aunt Margaret had started to hint about retirement the last few times Mycroft had dined with them._

_“It would be a pleasure.”_

_Rudy snorted. “No, it won’t. Sherrinford is hell on earth. But, nephew-mine, you must learn its ways and how to manage your sister. I won’t be around to do it much longer.”_

_Mycroft was alarmed. “Uncle?”_

_“No, no, nothing like that, my boy.” Rudy reassured his nephew. “I plan to retire in the spring.”_

_“Oh.” Mycroft blinked he couldn’t imagine his uncle not working for MI5._

_“Or rather become a ‘consultant’. Spend more time with Margaret. Take her to Iceland or Greenland or where ever the hell it is she wants to go.”_

_“That’s wonderful.” Mycroft’s brain scrambled to think who would, no could, fill his uncle’s role._

_“Not a word to anyone yet.”_

_“No, of course.”_

_“I’ve not told Lady S. She’ll likely have kittens, but no matter.”_

_Mycroft snickered at the thought of Lady Smallwood’s reaction._

_Rudy gazed fondly at Mycroft, who gave his uncle a small smile. “You know I don’t say this often enough Mycroft, but you are a remarkable young man. I would not be able to consider retiring if not for you. “_

_“Thank you.” Mycroft murmured. He felt pleased by the compliment._

_“My father, your grandfather, used to say ‘caring is not an advantage’. And he was right. It hampers your ability to make logical, rational decisions. However, I have found that without caring there is no joy. You, Mycroft, are one of my chief joys.”_

_Mycroft flushed. “I… I care for you too.”_

_Rudy smiled broadly at Mycroft. “I’m not sure what joy you get from your old uncle, but I appreciate the sentiment.”_

_“Ah, well, it is simply that time of year for us.” Mycroft quipped trying to lighten the mood._

_Rudy glanced at the calendar and chuckled. “So it is. Well we won’t speak of it again until next year.”_

 

            There would be no next year.

 

            Mycroft heard a noise behind him and sat up, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. He could hear his uncle in his head admonishing him to use his handkerchief. He started to reach for it, but then remembered he had given it to his aunt. He stood to see his mother and Margaret come in. Mycroft moved to the other side of the bed letting Margaret take the chair. His mother came to stand next to him. She put her arms around him and Mycroft stiffly accepted the embrace.

 

            It wasn’t long and Mycroft sensed a change in the room. Something was missing. It was time for another agonal breath. It didn’t come. Mycroft looked at his uncle’s face and there was a slackness that hadn’t been there. His skin had become waxen. Margaret gasped and began to sob. His mother left his side to comfort her sister in law and share her grief.

 

            Mycroft closed his eyes. He thought of the frigid water that lapped at the shores near Musgrave Hall. He imagined the cold, drafty study he spent his visits home in. He remembered the icy rain of Belfast. Lastly he recalled his uncle’s chilled, flaccid hand in his own hand. He took three slow deep breaths and then opened his eyes. Composed he left the hospital room to find the nurse.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft assumes new responsibilities in the wake of Uncle Rudy's death.

            Mycroft entered his uncle’s office and turned on the light. It was always an austere space, but now it was quite sterile. Rudy’s scant personal effects had been already removed. Mycroft huffed. MI5 certainly could move quickly when so minded.

 

            He moved to his uncle’s desk and began checking the drawers. Mycroft hoped to find some instructions, information, anything on his sister. It struck him as he escorted his aunt and his mother back to the manor house only he knew of Eurus’s existence beyond the walls of Sherrinford. He worried how was he going to get access to her. Even if he could get access to her would he have any authority? He was only junior staff at MI5. Granted he seemed to be on a fast track to a more senior position.

 

            The scent of perfume wafted into the room announcing Lady Smallwood’s presence. It made his nose itch. He rubbed at it as a shadow fell across the desk. Mycroft closed the drawer he had been searching.

 

            “Good evening, Lady Smallwood.”

 

            “Mr. Holmes, my condolences.” The elegant woman gave him a sympathetic smile.

 

            “My, news travels fast.” He did not attempt to hide the irritation in his voice. “I only just left his deathbed.”

 

            Lady Smallwood raised her eyebrows. “It is a difficult time, Mycroft. Please let me know if there is anything I can do.”

 

            Mycroft felt chastened. “Thank you,” he murmured. “I will.”

 

            “May I ask what you’re looking for?” Lady Smallwood glanced about the office. “All his personal effects have been sent to Margaret.”

 

            Mycroft wasn’t sure how much, if anything, Lady Smallwood knew of Sherrinford. “There is a ring that is missing. My aunt thought it might be here.” It was an easy lie in comparison to the others he had told. “Do you know who will be taking his place?” Mycroft deflected more questions with a question of his own.

 

            Lady Smallwood came further into the office and sat in one of the chairs across from the desk. Despite the late hour she looked impeccable, not a hair out of place. She gestured to the chair behind the desk. Mycroft sank heavily into his uncle’s chair. The seat cushion was broken down and hard.

 

            “I’m sure you realize your uncle cannot be replaced by just one person.” She paused and gave Mycroft a meaningful look. “At least not yet.” Mycroft sat a little straighter. “His duties are being parceled out by the committee. Porlock will take on some and I as well.”

 

            Mycroft pushed aside his grief. He needed to pay attention. “I see.” Lady Smallwood’s manner indicated she knew more than Mycroft might have originally thought.

 

“Your uncle and I had oversight of a top secret, heavily secured prison known as Sherrinford. I have need of an assistant now that the oversight the facility will fall solely with me.”

           

            “Ma’am.” Mycroft could hardly believe this, but kept his relief to himself.

 

            “I was hoping you would be willing to assist me with some of these new duties. Rudy had led me to believe you would be uniquely qualified for such a position.” She paused and looked Mycroft squarely in the eye. “Am I right?”

 

            Mycroft lifted his chin. “Yes, ma’am.”

 

* * *

 

_Several weeks later…_

 

            “Mycroft, please come in.” Aunt Margaret signaled from her seat behind Rudy’s desk in his study.

 

            Mycroft entered feeling awkward, though outwardly he appeared at ease. “You wanted to speak with me?” He had been avoiding this moment. He’d not seen his aunt since the funereal. Pleading work obligations he’d put off this meeting as long as he could.

 

            “Yes,” she smiled at her nephew. “Please sit. Would you like some tea?” Margaret offered lifting the nearby teapot.

 

            “No, thank you.” Mycroft settle into his usual chair, crossed his legs and folded his hands on his knee. He hoped the affectation of calm would help settle his nerves and his aunt’s. Margaret was nervously fiddling with her teacup. It hadn’t occurred to him that Margaret would be anxious as well.

 

            His aunt took a sip from her cup and sat back in Rudy’s chair. The action seemed to have helped her be more composed. She gazed at Mycroft for a long moment before speaking. “I’ve been to the solicitor.”

 

            Mycroft waited with a patience he really did not feel. He hummed encouragingly.

 

            Margaret sighed. “I suppose you already know what I’m about to say.”

 

            “I assure you, I do not.” He shrugged. “I can assume my uncle left a bequest, but I don’t know what.” In truth, he wasn’t that interested. He made enough money for his needs. Money wouldn’t fill the void Rudy’s death left in him. Sitting in his uncle’s study discussing bequests made his heart ache. He just wanted this over.

 

            “I see. I thought Rudy would have told you.”

 

            “We did not speak of his finances.”

 

            “Well…” Margaret paused and took another sip from her cup. She took a breath. “As his eldest living male relative you are heir to the family assets.”

 

            Mycroft grew still. He did not speak and Margaret gestured again to the teapot. Mycroft mutely nodded. She handed him a full cup. His hands trembled as he accepted it and he took a long drink. After a long moment he spoke. “I thought you would be his heir.”

 

            “I’m his executor and beneficiary of his life insurance policies and any assets obtained during our marriage. But the manor, the land, property and investments he inherited from your grandfather go to you.”

 

            “I see.” Mycroft’s mind reeled. He knew he’d inherit something from his uncle but he had not thought so much.

 

            “There is a generous amount set aside in trust for Sherlock. It is being held until as such time as his trustee feels it is appropriate to release it to him.” She looked at her notes. “That was a recent addition to the will.” Margaret glanced back up at Mycroft. “I assume you understand why.”

 

            Mycroft nodded knowingly. “Yes. Who is the trustee?” He already felt sorry for the poor bastard.

 

            “You.”

 

            Mycroft nearly dropped his teacup. “Me?” He sat the china down.

 

            “I thought Rudy would’ve consulted you.”

 

            “No, he didn’t.” Mycroft nearly snapped.

 

            “I’m sorry. We can discuss other options with the solicitor.”

 

            Mycroft leaned forward and pressed his hands to his head. “No,” he said lowly after a moment. “It’s better it is me. He’d bamboozle whoever else we chose, including our parents.” Mycroft sat back up and straightened his spine. He could see the pity in Margaret’s eyes. It irritated him.

 

            “Are you sure?”

 

            “Yes. He already hates me for insisting he go to rehab. What’s one more reason to add to his list? At least it gives me an excuse to stay in his life.”

 

            “You are a good man, Mycroft, and a good brother. Sherlock is lucky you care for him.” He knew she was trying to help him feel better, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t want to feel better.

 

            “Caring is not an advantage,” came Mycroft’s bitter reply.

 

            Margaret was silent then spoke softly. “That isn’t all he said. You left out, ‘but without it there is no joy.’”

 

            “Forgive me, but I find my caring provides little joy these days.” Mycroft spoke with quiet despair. The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed the half hour.

 

            “I miss him too.”

 

            Mycroft nodded but wouldn’t meet her eyes. He bowed his head and massaged the top of his forehead with his fingers.

 

            After a few moments Margaret opened a drawer and pulled an old-fashioned ring box. “This was your grandfather’s wedding ring and…” Her voice broke a little. “And Rudy’s. It is yours now.”

 

            Mycroft looked up, blinking rapidly. He took the box. “Thank you,” he murmured. He stood. “Is there anything else?”

 

            “No. I have given the solicitor your contact information. I should be out of the house within the month.” She stood as well and escorted him to the door.

 

            “Please don’t feel that you have to hurry.” His tone was perfunctory. He couldn’t care less when the manor house would be available.

 

            “In all honesty, I would rather it over with.” She came up on her toes and kissed Mycroft’s cheek. “Thank you Mycroft. You took such good care of him, in ways he’d never let me.”

 

            “It was nothing.”

 

            Margaret smiled softly and shook her head. He could tell she wanted to offer more comfort to him. He stepped back and Margaret took the hint. “I’ll be in touch when I’ve moved. Please don’t be a stranger.”

 

            “No, of course not.” He lied.

 

* * *

 

_Winter 1997…_

 

            “Heart attack or stroke?”

 

            These were not the first words Mycroft expected to hear from his sister after nearly a decade. He stood just inside the door of her cell holding the treat box, trying not to stare. She had grown into a young woman and that startled him somewhat. He knew it would have had to happen, but it was still a bit of a shock. Her hair was dark like Sherlock’s but wavy like his own. Her eyes were also like his, a piercing blue.

 

            She approached her expression flat, but those familiar eyes sparkled with interest. “Well? Heart attack or stroke?”

 

            Mycroft gave himself a mental shake. “Pardon? I would have thought, ‘Hello, Mycroft. What a pleasant surprise’ would have been more appropriate.”

 

            She stared at him. “I said that. Do keep up.”

 

            Mycroft sighed. “Stroke.” He felt a spasm of grief, but kept it off of his face.

 

            “I’m not going to ask how he’s doing.”

 

            “No, I didn’t imagine you would.”

 

            “This tells me he’s dead.” She tapped the ring on Mycroft’s right ring finger, and then took the box Mycroft was holding.

 

            “Of course,” he murmured.

 

            She gently shook the box. “But not before he put together my ‘treats’. She carelessly tossed the box onto the small table in the room. “Boring.” She turned back to Mycroft and began to circle him. “You, however, are not boring.”

 

            Mycroft could feel her gaze disassembling and cataloguing him. He reminded himself that the guards were watching and just outside the door. All he had to do was ask for ‘lemonade’ and they’d come barreling in the room.

 

            “You look funny all grown up.” She said as she came around to face him. “Taller and slimmer than I’d thought. What happened to your hair?”

 

            “You dyed it; that’s obvious.” She reached up and gently traced his hairline noting how far back it went on either side of his widow’s peak.

 

            Mycroft forced himself to be gentle as he pushed her hand away. His uncle had told him she didn’t have much direct human contact. “That’s not appropriate.” His tone was patronizing as if he was speaking to a little girl.

 

            Irritation flashed across Eurus’s face. “Would a hug be more appropriate?” She asked.

 

            “Yes.” Though Mycroft wasn’t not at all sure he wanted one from his sister.

 

            Eurus wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his chest. Mycroft had a sense of déjà vu and remembered the last time he’d seen her. She had slept in his arms with her head pillowed on his chest. He brought his arms up and lightly embraced her. She sighed and pressed herself closer.

 

            “You smell good.” She pressed her face into his chest and inhaled deeply. “I never get to smell anything in here, but myself. I never get to touch anyone, but myself.”

 

            Her hands started to slide up and down his back. Mycroft began to feel more and more uneasy. He loosened his hold and carefully tried to disengage. Eurus tightened her embrace and asked, “What is that scent? It’s like tea and… something else.”

 

            “Bergamot and cedar.” Mycroft stiffened. Her hands had drifted down and were caressing and cupping his arse. Mycroft pushed her back firmly. That’s not appropriate,” he said sternly.

 

            “No? But it felt good.” She grinned wickedly.

 

            “You are my sister. Siblings don’t touch each other in a sexual manner,” Mycroft admonished.

 

            “That was sexual? You know about sex?” There was an eagerness to her questions that disturbed Mycroft.

 

            “Wouldn’t you like to open your box?” He said trying to change the subject.

 

            Eurus would not be distracted. “No, I want to know about sex.”

 

            “Not from me.” Mycroft was quite clear on that point.

 

            “Then who?”

 

            “I’ll get you some books.”

 

            Eurus rolled her eyes. “Books!” she spat.

 

            Mycroft scrambled to think of another source that might satisfy her curiosity. “And… videos.”

 

            Eurus looked at Mycroft considering. “Fine,” she agreed finally. She moved over to the table. “Let’s see Uncle Rudy’s parting gifts.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know anything about boarding schools in the UK and certainly not all male boarding schools in the 1980s, but I don't believe I included anything wildly bizarre. I am assuming it is an all male school and boys played all the roles in the play.


End file.
